Broken Strings Book Novels & Stories

Then my mind wanders off to Antonio words: "Is not really the matter of being a softy dumbass. I just find the story similar to what happened to you. I'm dead serious! You've got to read this book, perhaps after reading you can tell me if I was wrong or right" I don't know when my fingers has typed the title of the book and it's author and now I was at A****n Kindle page. In the page, the book cover is designed with white background and then it had a broken shaped hearts on the background with the title written in red 'Shattered Hearts' and it's author name below the cover Micaela Alvarado. Seeing this book again sent turbulence to my heart like in the afternoon when I'd seen it.

The sound it made when it broke filled the silence like thunder, but it wasn’t enough. I swept the shelf clean—jars, scrolls, dried herbs, candleholders—all of it crashed to the ground in a whirlwind of fragments and falling petals. I tipped over the bench, kicked the cracked basin of water, let the books fall from their stacks and scatter across the floor like wounded birds. I screamed until my voice cracked, until my throat burned and my chest throbbed. Then I sank to the floor, breathing in shards and ink and lavender, my arms wrapped around my knees.

Her eyes flickered back to the past for a second, focusing a few seconds later. I used the hot glue and tape, setting to work. The result made me realize mending books was not a suitable career choice. It still looked like a tattered old book, but at least everything was held together. I had glued one of the pages on backwards, making the page numbers not quite add up. The cover had been taped back together, but was still missing chunks. The entire process filled me with the first shred of relaxation I had since coming here. I felt like I was piecing back some parts of my life. My heart was still shattered, but was being held together just like this book. The thought was comforting, that eve

In the end, I told myself it was wrong to be petty toward a grieving widow, so I was the one who gave in and apologized. Later, when Ryan wanted to put his ring back on, he couldn't find it anywhere. Luckily, I still had the original design sketches. Since my own ring was getting worn out, I decided to order a brand-new set, identical to the first. But before the rings even arrived, our bond had already shattered. I instinctively rubbed the faint pale mark where my ring used to sit. My old band was still sitting on that table back at the Pack House. "I don't want them. Even if they're brand new and identical, our bond is fractured. There's no going back."

Standing at the breaking point. Letting the fracture speak.

"Oh, and by the way—your family's a mess. Oliver broke into the asylum and let Ada out. She took him hostage. She wants to see you. "Go back, Steven. He's your son. As for us—there's nothing left." Her words snapped the last thread holding him up. As Bella walked away, his chest caved in. The pain pinned him where he sat, too shattered to move, too wrecked to chase her. This time, he knew—he'd really lost her.

And when she gave it to Simmy, he couldn't read it because the pages were empty. “Yes, I remember now, but the book was torn at the last page, and I couldn't find it again.” “That's because it doesn't want to be found. It only appears when you need it the most.” Odessa was getting more confused. “What is that supposed to mean?” “That's beside the point, Odessa. The point is, I read the whole book.” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Everything?” “Yes. Everything,” he answered calmly. “And I can tell you how to break the snap.”

Why was she hung up on this? ”Hey, Lydia,” I nudged her shoulder which seemed to get her out of whatever trans she was in. ”Yeah?” ”Flip the page,” I said and gestured to the book. Lydia cleared her throat and flipped the page. The words were faded to such an extent that it was nearly impossible to read them. There was that branch again only this time it was broken in the middle with thorns sticking out on each side. They were a faded red which seemed to symbolize blood.

Would I ever find solid ground? I tried to push the questions away, telling myself to focus on the small victories: making my own breakfast, turning the music up loud, buying flowers just because I wanted to. Yet, loneliness seeped into the cracks. --- One afternoon, walking through a crowded market, I stumbled upon a tiny antique bookstore tucked between two cafés. The faded sign read *“Fragments”*, and something about the name pulled me inside. Inside, the scent of old paper and dust wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Shelves sagged with forgotten stories and whispered secrets.

He took a deep breath and continued. "I can't take the weight of your love, I just can't. I'm getting lost on you, I feel like you'll be safe in the hands of another. I'm beyond damaged, I'm broken to the core. There are times I've felt maybe I'm not broken, just bent, but now, now I know I'm broken. Despite knowing broken things still work, I also know there's an expiry date. Broken things work till they don't."