How To Build Trust In My Boyfriend Relationship?

"I was not flawed. your faith was flawed. If You had faith in your heart for me, I wouldn't have to bear all that I did because of you" she said looking towards him who was sobbing Infront of her. "I was very lost and angry at that time. All the evidence was against you and when I saw that condition of my mother, I gone mad." He told her and raised his hand to touch her but she jerked away his hand in anger. "Please believe me.... I really love you" He looked into her eyes with the hope that maybe she might believe his words. "There was a time when I also expected you to believe in me but then you did not believe me and left me alone with my sorrow and pain. Today I will leave you alone with your regrets and sorrows" she said angrily. She left from there. He fell on the floor. ** This is the story of two people who were separated by a misunderstanding although they loved each other so much that even a single second could not be spent without each other. There is a lot of mystery, secrets, misunderstanding and most importantly lack of trust.

I had stayed up all night to get the merchandise. It was then callously discarded by my boyfriend. On that stormy day, I knelt beside a dumpster and searched through bags of trash. Yarden Scott stopped in his tracks. “What are you looking for?” “My merch.” I did not look up. “I reminded you three times. It was in the left drawer of the sideboard.” His shirt was soaked from the rain. He subconsciously said, “Yvonne’s car broke down. I went to pick her up. I forgot.” He forgot. Last week, he threw away the commemorative ticket stubs I had stayed up all night organizing because he thought they were scraps of paper. The month before, he threw away the brooch my grandmother left me because he thought it was an old button. Every single time, he brushed it off with the same excuse. I gave a mocking smile. “You always remember everything when it comes to Yvonne, don’t you?” Yarden carefully wiped the hair tie Yvonne Jordan had left behind and answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s your best friend. That means I have to treat her very well. “If I keep her happy, our relationship will last. Isn’t it all for your sake?” I watched his practiced movements and felt completely drained. I could not say another word. I had reminded him countless times before not to touch the drawers in my study. He ignored me and threw away my collection of rare stamps. I told him again and again that I was allergic to mangoes. At a group dinner, he still ordered a mango shake for me. But when Yvonne casually mentioned that she had trouble sleeping, he started sending her music to help her sleep every single day. If Yvonne wanted to eat at her favorite restaurant, he would pull every string he could to get a reservation. To him, everything about me was a burden. Everything about Yvonne was worth his time. If that were the case, then I should not bother him any longer.

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.

My boyfriend goes viral after uploading a video of him being lovey-dovey with a woman. Everyone praises him for being handsome and a good boyfriend, but I don't even have the courage to like the video. Why? Because the woman in the video isn't me.

On the day I got pregnant again, August decided to give up on gambling and work to provide for the family. I was so touched that I cried. With trembling hands, I handed him the money I had saved up after working odd jobs for a year. Two of the bank notes fell on the floor, and I picked them up before running after him. When I reached the end of the alley, I saw the mafia members who always came to our doorstep to demand repayment of our debt. They treated August respectfully. Apparently, his poverty was just a facade. “Mr. August, do we still need to surround your house and demand payment tomorrow?” August sat in a Lincoln limousine and said nonchalantly, “No need.” He stared at the ring on his finger and sighed. “It’s been years. It’s enough to prove that her love for me is real. She once worked so hard to pay off my debt that she suffered a miscarriage. “I already betrayed her once. It’s time to tell her about my true identity so that she doesn’t have to work so hard anymore.” But Ivy, his childhood friend, pouted. “You can’t! It’s not time yet to reveal the truth! What if she’s like your previous girlfriends and only cares about your money and your identity as a mafia boss? “You should wait a little longer and see whether she wants to have this baby.” August gave a wistful nod. “Alright. I’ll do as you say. In any case, she has been with me for so long. I don’t think she can leave me now.” I clenched the money in my hands and turned around. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I no longer wanted to live this lie dressed as love.

I have been a keeper of many secrets since I was old enough to know what secrets were. No one knows the truth or the real me. No one knows about the abuse I suffer from my father behind closed doors. No one knows about the cuts and scars I hide from the world. To the outside world, I am your average teenager, but the truth is, I am a broken girl with no one to love her, to see the real sadness in my eyes. I keep it to myself because I want to. It is things I have hidden for years, and no one seems to notice. Until him, Ryland. The new boy in the town. The stranger who sees right through me from the second we meet. We are drawn to one another like a moth to the flame. The more I get to know him, the more I see I am not the only one fighting demons. To start with, he is a pain in my ass, but every day we grow closer, and we become what the other needs. A bond develops between us, one that becomes unbreakable. Neither of us realised that when two broken souls come together, it would be exactly what we needed to help one another heal. He shows me love, something I haven’t had since I lost my mother. I soon learn that just because you are broken doesn’t mean it needs to stay that way. Your past doesn’t need to define you. Possible Trigger Warnings: Physical abuse (It does happen, not often and not in too much detail). Rape, suicide, and self-harm are also mentioned. It doesn’t happen in the book, but it's discussed.