Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Whispers of my heart: Kabanata 101 - Kabanata 110

One beautiful afternoon, the kind that only comes in late autumn when the air is crisp and the sun hangs low in a cloudless sky, Daniel’s phone rang.He was on the couch, a sketchpad in his lap, sunlight spilling across the floor. Sophia was at the library, Rose had borrowed her for a study session. The apartment was quiet — not empty, but full of her presence: her favorite mug on the counter, her scarf draped over the chair, her laughter still echoing in the silence.He answered without looking.“Hello?”“Daniel?”The voice was soft, familiar.And for a heartbeat, he froze.Margaret Thomas.His pulse jumped — not from fear.From hope.“Yes,” he said, sitting up. “Mrs. Thomas. Is everything okay?”There was a pause. Then, gently: “Yes. Everything’s more than okay. I was just… calling to ask you something.”He exhaled. “Of course.”“I was wondering,” she said, “if you and your parents, would like to have dinner with Robert and me. Just the five of us. Nothing formal. Just… dinner.”Dan

The morning of the gown search dawned soft and silver, the city still wrapped in the quiet hush that only comes before the world wakes. A thin layer of mist clung to the rooftops, and the streets were quiet — just the distant hum of a bus, the clink of a bakery opening, the soft footfalls of early risers.Inside Daniel’s apartment, warmth radiated from the kitchen.Elena stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with quiet precision, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon filling the air. Sophia was beside her, slicing strawberries, humming under her breath. They moved around each other like they’d done this a hundred times — not out of obligation, but out of love.Daniel walked in, still in his sleep shirt, hair tousled, blinking against the light.“What’s all this?” he asked, voice rough with sleep.“Breakfast,” Sophia said, grinning. “A thank-you.”“For what?”“For letting me stay,” Elena said, sliding a plate in front of him. “For being… you.”He looked at the plate — golden pancakes, fres

The news broke on a quiet Tuesday afternoon — the kind that usually passed in silence, with students buried in textbooks, professors shuffling between lectures, and the city humming in its usual rhythm.But this day didn’t stay quiet.It shattered.Sophia sat at a corner table in The Willow Bean, the campus café tucked between the library and the art building. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting golden stripes across the wooden floor. Mira sat across from her, stirring her iced coffee with a straw, mid-sentence about her internship.“And then he said, ‘You’re too loud for marketing,’ like that’s a bad thing—”She didn’t finish.The café door burst open.Zara, Rose, and Claire rushed in, phones in hand, eyes wide.“Sophia!” Zara called, breathless. “You need to see this.”Sophia blinked. “What? What’s wrong?”Claire slid into the booth beside her, thrusting her phone forward.“Just watch.”The screen lit up.A news clip.Breaking report.“24-Year-Old Woman Arrested in

Justice had been served.The gavel fell.The sentence stood.Emily Foster would spend the rest of her life behind bars.Outside the courthouse, the victim’s family released a statement — quiet, dignified, heavy with grief.“No prison term can bring Marcus back. But we are grateful the truth was uncovered. We ask for privacy as we begin to heal.”There would be no appeals.No media circus revival.Just silence.And in that silence, the city exhaled.Relief settled over the campus, the offices, the coffee shops where people had once whispered her name with curiosity, with envy, with fascination. The woman who had seemed to have it all — youth, beauty, ambition — was now a cautionary tale.And still, the question lingered.How?At The Willow Bean, Sophia sat with her study group — Mira, Zara, Rose, and Claire — sunlight streaming through the windows, textbooks open, but no one reading.The conversation had turned, as it always did now, to Emily.“She was 24,” Zara said, stirring her tea.

Back on campus, winter settled in quietly.Frost kissed the windows each morning.The campus pathways were dusted with a thin layer of snow.Steam rose from coffee cups as students hurried between lectures, scarves pulled high, laughter echoing in the crisp air.But inside Dorm 3B, something had changed.Mira was no longer loud.No longer bright.No longer the girl who danced in the hallway with a hairbrush as a microphone, who screamed at football games, who ate three slices of pizza and still had room for dessert.She was quiet.Too quiet.She still smiled — but it didn’t reach her eyes.She still laughed — but it came too late, like she was remembering how.She still sat with them at meals — but she didn’t speak unless spoken to.And Sophia, who had always known Mira as the fire that warmed every room, felt it like a bruise.It started with small things.Mira stopped going to the late-night study lounge.She turned down movie nights.She began eating breakfast alone, sitting on a b