Before The Morning Novels & Stories

The sun had risen softly that morning, not in its usual triumphant blaze, but as a gentle, golden hush over the trees. The air was still cool, tinged with the scent of dewy pine needles and the sweet breath of the lake. The retreat’s morning bells rang lightly in the distance—three slow chimes—signaling that breakfast had ended and the morning mindfulness activity was about to begin.

Breathing heavily, I realized it was morning already. The ball is upon us.

Because scared or not— morning was still coming.

Adrian He woke before the sun breached the horizon. The brownstone was enveloped in a stillness that felt almost sacred. Outside, the city seemed to hang in that fleeting, fragile moment between night and day—a time when the world itself hesitated to breathe. Shadows stretched across the ceiling, and the silence felt heavy, like the calm that follows a storm after it has finally burned itself out.

Waiting for morning to come. And it would. Too soon.

I met his gaze and said, "Mr. Loris, you didn't force anyone, so you're not in the wrong. It's just that I don't agree with your method of finding a partner." He gave me a look that was part understanding, part confusion, but he did not press any further. Fiona and Matthew's trip to the Gangara River was meant to be a spiritual cleanse, but it ended with them catching a deadly virus. They could not make it past three months in the hospital. Janet was young, though, and even after a rough two months of being sick, she bounced back. However, she was on her own in Indoria, clueless about how to make it by herself.

The morning was in front of us. Both of us. All of us. Home.

The camp was enveloped in a heavy unspoken tension, like a dense fog, as the gray and quiet morning dawned. Amora observed the sunrise from the clearing's edge, with its faint rays struggling to pierce the darkness. The peaceful buzz of life starting to awaken reminded her of the fragile equilibrium hanging on the edge of war. The memories of last night remained vivid in her thoughts, each word, every resolute gaze engraved in her recollection.

Slowly, he closed his eyes, bidding farewell to the night. As the morning sun began to cast its gentle glow through the windows, Kelvin stirred from his slumber. He rose early, his mind focused on the task at hand. In the kitchen, he prepared a simple breakfast of toast and tea, the aroma wafting through the air. The clinking of plates and utensils filled the apartment, a comforting sound of morning routines.

he ends the call and turns to me. "How does she even love you more than her own son?" He queried. I shrugged. "Magicians never reveal their secrets," I wiggle my brow and he snorts. *** The morning gradually turned into mid day as the sun decided to grace us with it's warmth a bit. The rays bounced off the glass and created a crystalline image in the house. It was mid-Feburary and the leaves had started to change from it's greeny nature to a slightly light brown, kinda carton colour nature.