Why Do Some People Believe 'Words Speak Louder Than Actions'?

Sometimes our feelings cannot speak, but our actions did. We express it through actions, but what if that someone you love does not feel the same way? Are you still going to pursue your feelings? even though you didn't meet his/her standards? Do you ever experience this so-called unspoken love? Are you strong enough to say those three words even if that someone rejects you?

"I love you, Swara. I promise that I'll never let a single drop of tear come out of your eyes," he said while holding her hands. "I don't believe in promises anymore. Promises are lies," she said while jerking her hands back. ♡♡♡ Swara Gadodia, a simple and shy girl who chooses to be silent most of the time because of reasons known only to her. Having grown up with a non-loving stepmother, who hates her, Swara longs for love, always. Enters her life, Sanskar Maheswari, a rude and arrogant man who has no room for love in his life. In fact, he doesn't even believe in the concept of love. Both are completely different from each other, but as they, opposite attracts. Destiny plays its own game, and both are tangled in the web of love. But life is not so easy. Something tragic happens, which is to test their bond. Will their love pass the test? Or, will it crumble down? Will they be able to fulfil the promises they made to each other? ♡♡♡ He is the sun while she is the moon. He is as raging as fire while she is as calm as water. Will these two opposites ever fall in love?

When we get too much involved in the act of pretending, we lose the idea of knowing the pretense of others. Isn't that how it works? We don't know the acts we do thinking good for the others even to the extent of hurting them to save them from major hurt will cause them to go through much more than we can think of. Sometimes it is not too late to correct the pretenses but sometimes it is late to amend them. Let's see whether it is too late or just in time.

I worked for a restaurant, and our boss loved making empty promises about giving us restaurant shares. The boss said we would start with zero shares, but we could earn 0.01% for every two hours of overtime, covering someone else’s work or saving the restaurant 1,000 bucks. I suggested she write this down in an official document and have someone track it properly. She just smiled and told everyone to work harder. She never actually put it in writing. The experienced staff did not believe her, but one prep cook took it seriously. At the end of the year, he went to the boss to claim his shares. The boss said, “Sorry, the head chef told me there’s no official document, so it doesn’t count. You can’t claim any shares.” The prep cook worked hard all year and got nothing for it, so he took his anger out on me. The day before I was going home for the New Year, he killed me with a knife. “If you hadn’t said it doesn’t count without an official document, this whole restaurant would’ve been mine!” I lay in a pool of blood. When I opened my eyes, I was back to the day the boss first made those empty promises.

My husband, Chandler Goodwin, claims that he doesn't understand what the phrases "silent treatment" or "giving the cold shoulder" mean. Yet, in the three years we have been married, he has never once spoken to me sweetly. The first time we have a falling out, I remain proud and dignified. We end up ignoring each other for seven days straight. The seventh time we have a cold standoff, I start to panic a little. However, despite trying all sorts of methods, he doesn't back down. The 11th time it happens, I have already learned to work through my emotions myself. Chandler doesn't even need to say anything before I take the initiative to apologize first. I simply think that he's just a naturally indifferent person, that nobody can warm his stone-cold heart. Then, on the third year of our marriage, I accidentally ruin his dress shirt while ironing it. Chandler doesn't say a word, but that very night, he packs his things and moves into a hotel. On the third day of being blocked, I head to his company with a handwritten apology. While passing by his office, I spot him leaning over to shoot his angry assistant a doting smile. "I'm sorry for raising my voice at you just now and upsetting you. It's been 57 minutes since you started ignoring me. Please stop giving me the cold shoulder, alright?" I freeze on the spot, the apology letter in my hand practically burning my fingers. As it turns out, it's not that he doesn't know what the silent treatment means—it's just that I've never been the person he wants to coax.

I have a severe case of logorrhea. Only speaking makes me feel alive. My classmates all call me a freak, but Marvin Britt is the only one willing to listen to me. One day, I bring some homemade soup over to see him, only to catch him holding his junior's hand. "Lexie, your voice is so lovely, unlike my wife at home. She sounds like a squawking duck. It's exhausting." My hands shake so violently that I drop the thermal flask. The commotion angers a nearby madman, who forces a bottle of boiling water down my throat. With my mouth full of blood and blisters, I realize I need proof. I send Marvin—a lawyer—a frantic voice note to accompany me to the police station for evidence. Marvin shoots back a single word—"Noted". Of course. He doesn't even listen to it, as usual. He used to reply to everything I said with voice notes at least a minute long. But we hit the seven-year itch, and he's sick of my endless talking. Leaving the hospital, I stare at my diagnosis of permanent mutism and laugh bitterly. He must be thrilled. His world is finally quiet.