A Story About A Story Novels & Stories

Minsan ay nagbibisekleta lamang siya. Hindi ko iyon tinatanggihan. I want us closer than before. I want us to have something more than what we have before. I was conscious about what was happening at first. Hindi mawala-wala ang iba't-ibang kuwento mula sa mga tao. They'd make stories and spread it around like a virus. Other people would believe while some people have their own versions of us. It just gets worse and worse. They see us the way how we were in their minds and not what we really were. At kung ano ang ipininta nila sa amin, iyon ang ipipresinta nila sa iba pang tao. Making bad stories against other people was a never-ending saga.

, he said. “What...?”, I trailed off. “This is a legend, Zara. I’ve read this story before. It was about a poor woman named Tamara who had twins and sold one of them for a loaf of bread. Poor woman, she couldn’t afford to see her children die in hunger”.

They hear fragments of these stories occasionally—exaggerated, simplified, bent into shapes that serve someone else’s certainty. A ruler who abdicated power out of guilt. A woman who lost her gift and faded quietly. Guardians who abandoned their post. Arthur laughs the first time. Tyla doesn’t. Later, she says, “It’s all right. Stories have to flatten things to carry them.” “Do you mind?” he asks. She thinks. “No,” she says. “As long as no one tries to live by them.” That, she says, is where damage begins. Time continues its patient work.

“And yeah, shenanigans. The kind I get in trouble for and then wind up with a shitty team and a shitty contract because I’m a liability. The kind you get in trouble for and then lose your contract with the team.” “None of our shit has gotten us into any real trouble,” I protest, rolling my eyes. “We only got arrested one time, and that was when we were back home in West Bend.” “That was last year,” Noah argues. “We were only even in jail for a few hours. Racing a couple of tractors down Main Street ain’t exactly the crime of the century.” “You ran into Old Man Johnson’s fence and the cows got out.” “A couple of cows.” “His whole herd. One walked into the church the next morning during the pr

I understand. "The one you wrote is called Love Story. Why did I say that it's a love story? It's because it didn't have any happy ending. Love Story is a Subgenre of Romance. It's a kind of genre with a different story point and goal to achieve something love is at stake, then it has a cruel ending at the end. Love Story shows the couple's growth and challenges in their life, which complicating with affairs." He explains, and then he sits down while staring at me. I nod at him, and it's my loss.

Here goes nothing. "Remember my story? the one I'm currently writing?" I began, he nodded but kept silent, urging me to go on. "Well last night I dreamed about... me being inside my story." I paused for a moment as our pancakes were served. "It felt surreal Xander, I mean meeting my own characters… how cool is that?" He looked at me and sighed, "Kaia, you're too focused on your story I mean, even in your sleep? that's too much."

Most importantly with whom she will fall in love soon, will he love him back or it will be a love triangle! What will happen if she will fall in love with more than one person in her life? Her love story will be complete or it will be an incomplete one!!! What will happen if someone wants to take revenge on her family for some past mystery and want to ruin her life? Why the love story will be considered an abnormal love story??!!! To find out that readers please fasten your seatbelt and join the love story of Misti and a Mysterious Man!!! and discover all the secrets and lies in this journey.....

She realized that stories had the ability to transcend language and cultural barriers, touching the hearts of people from all walks of life. With this newfound insight, Luna embarked on a project to collect and share stories from individuals in Seoul. She sought out locals, immigrants, and travelers alike, listening to their personal narratives and experiences. These stories ranged from tales of triumph and resilience to accounts of cultural traditions and the bonds forged through shared humanity.

I consoled him and gave him some water. “She locked me up in the store room” “WHAT? IN THE STOOR ROOM? HOW DID YOU COME HERE! Tell me everything.” I questioned. “I was locked inside since morning and when she opened me up, I ran and hid here. She warned me that she’ll lock me again if I told this to anyone.” I stood up and as I went forward Zac held my leg and started to cry. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to get locked please.”

I was the architect of my own story. THE END.