Burnt Spaghetti Novels & Stories

Laurence nodded moodily. Zoey pursed her lips and asked, "You haven't eaten?" "No." Zoey fell silent. After a while, she explained, "The spaghetti was burnt so I threw it out." She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she sensed his unspoken sadness as he stood in silence.

He crouches in front of me, his eyes scanning my face, his proximity suffocating. His hand brushes towards my collarbone, making me draw back. "You’ve lost weight. These bones are too apparent. Haven’t you been consuming nicely?" Why is he pretending to care? His hands circulate down to inspect each inch of me, tracing scars like they’re secrets and techniques he’s rediscovering. "You shouldn’t contact me like that," I mutter, my voice trembling. "I’m no longer your spouse anymore." He ignores me completely. "You said you were late for work. Which corporation is it?"

Belinda savored her husband's homemade spaghetti, devouring it until her red lips were smeared with sauce. Brandon could only shake his head, his wife's cute behavior making him want to stare at her face even longer. Unaware of the spaghetti getting cold, his right hand instinctively wiped the tiny lips in front of him with his right thumb. "Even though you're an adult, you still make a mess when you eat." "Your spaghetti is really delicious." Belinda gave a thumbs up. “Do you know what this spaghetti recipe is like that makes you addicted to eating it?” “You learn from YouTube?”

First genuine laugh I'd heard from him. "It's terrible," he said. "It's actually terrible. I burned pasta. Who burns pasta? It's just boiling water. How do you burn something in boiling water?" "Talent," Reaper said. Completely serious. More laughter. Spreading around the table. Real laughter. Family laughter. We sat down. Ate burned pasta with sauce Albert had made. Which was actually excellent. Rich and deep and exactly right. "This sauce is incredible," Victoria said. "Albert, seriously. This is restaurant quality."

"My mom is making my favorite spaghetti with the assistance of my grandparents. Would you like to? Jasmine felt more comfortable when she saw that Sally's family was actually preparing spaghetti at home. "You didn't go to the movies with my mom today, did you?" she said. When Jasmine heard this, she at last felt at ease. "Got it. Enjoy your spaghetti." Just as she was going to end the video conversation, she paused and nervously said, "Bye." "Oh, bye-bye..." was Sally's reply. As Thorne returned to the living room, Lloyd looked up. "All sorted?" Thorne gave a nod. "Yes, everything is fine.

“Yo, Kev. I’m starving. You eat yet?” Kevin looked up from the couch, where he’d been half-watching a basketball game. “Nah. Figured we’d order pizza again. The usual?” “Extra pepperoni. I’m fucking ravenous.” Mike dropped his bag by the door and peeled off his tank top right there in the living room, tossing it toward the laundry pile. His muscles were pumped, veins standing out along his arms and down his lower abs. Kevin’s eyes lingered a second too long before he forced them back to the TV.

“…don’t let him see how much you burn for me. Because if he does, he’ll use it.” The door opened. Cool night air rushed in. Matteo stepped out first. Held out his hand. I took it. And as my red heels touched the ground, the main Moretti mansion rising before us, I realized something cold and certain. This wasn’t just a dinner. It was a battlefield. And I was walking onto it wearing the color of blood.

She said proudly, "I'm hungry. I want spaghetti!" What could Ambrose do with a drunkard like her? He had no choice but to search everywhere for spaghetti. Seated in a pasta eatery, Ambrose stared emotionlessly at all the spaghetti laid out across the table. Larissa nudged him and winked at him. "Hey, handsome. If you could finish all this spaghetti, I'll sleep with you tonight!" Ambrose's gaze deepened. "You promise?" Larissa affirmed him, "Of course!" Ambrose silently picked up the fork and began to indulge in the spaghetti.

Walking into the kitchen, I found that the spaghetti I had been preparing was completely burnt, and smoke covered the entire kitchen. Panicking, I throw the windows open to let the smoke escape as coughs rip out of my lungs, my throat tightening until tears begin to fall. I run out of the kitchen to save my dear life when my stomach cries out in hunger. I wrap my arms around it, checking the time on the wall, and it is almost midnight. “That was all I had to eat tonight,” I whisper to myself, staring at the kitchen I almost burnt down a few minutes ago because of a fucking picture, and sigh in frustration.