Can You Feel The Silence Novels & Stories

You thought you knew the weight of something and then you picked it up and discovered you had been wrong by a significant amount. The silence had a texture. Not cold. Not angry in the obvious way. Something emptier than either of those things. It was the silence of someone who had removed you from the room they were living in. Not locked the door against you. Not posted a sign. Simply ceased to include you in the space where they existed. Linda's number was in her phone. Zara looked at it sometimes in the evenings when the flat was quiet. She did not call.

Kael’s POV The silence was the most terrifying thing I had ever heard. In the Silver Peak, silence was a predator; it meant the birds had stopped singing and the wind had died because something bigger had arrived. But this was different. The world didn't just feel quiet; it felt empty, as if the breath of the mountain itself had been sucked away by that giant, silver hand.

Bleeding. SILENCE

“There will be no undoing. She burned every bridge she had. You can see it in the silence that follows her name. No one wants to risk being tied to her again.” I listened, my fingers resting lightly against the rim of my glass. For months, her name had been a wound. Now it was only an echo. “Do you feel relief?” Lena asked, turning to me. “Or does it feel empty?” I considered the question. “Both. Relief, because the battles are over. Empty, because so much of my life had been wrapped around fighting. When the silence comes, it feels almost too wide.” Julian reached for my hand under the table, grounding me. “Silence can also mean space,” he reminded me.

“You wanted this.” The words don’t convince me. As the sun lowers, the silence deepens. It presses. In the city, silence is rare and suspicious. Here, it’s the default. It doesn’t announce itself. It simply exists, stretching between sounds like a held note. I begin to understand how this could be useful. Without interruption, thoughts grow louder. Fears amplify. Patterns emerge unchallenged.

Aria There’s a strange type of silence that happens after you’ve been ordered to erase someone from your skin. It’s not peaceful. It’s not quiet in the normal sense. It’s the kind where your own heartbeat sounds like someone knocking from inside your ribcage, asking if you’re okay. Mine wasn’t. Not even close.

There is a deafening silence following the conflict. Each short breath feels like a battle, and I can hear my own heartbeat thudding rapidly in my ears. My surroundings have become strangely still. The forest itself seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something to happen, as there were no further cries or growls.

There's a certain silence in suffering—the kind that wraps around your throat, leaving you gasping for air. It's like a constant tinnitus, a ringing that drowns out everything, even the sound of your voice as you silently scream for help. You want to reach out to someone, anyone, to plead for relief. But even when someone is there, the silence can still feel overwhelming. Amid the chaos of New York's evening rush, with honking horns and bustling streets, the quiet inside me remained deafening.

The noise of the clinic, the coughing, the crying, the low murmur of voices all simmered away until there was only my thudding pulse in my ears. Hunter’s gaze crashed into mine. I was paralyzed in a cloud of my own fear. Not now. Not here. *** Hunter’s pov I never knew silence could hurt. I mean, not the good kind of quiet you get after a long day’s work when your head hits the pillow and all you hear is blissful nothing. No. I’m talking about that silence an empty apartment holds after someone is gone. That silence that was thick with a lot of things that had not been said and heavy with words that you felt should have been said, but instead, they choke back inside your throat. That kind of

*****************************POV: Claire********************** --- There’s a certain kind of silence that doesn’t feel safe. Not the comfortable, blanket-wrapped kind that comes after a long day. Not the sweet, post-rain hush where everything smells like earth and renewal. No, this silence is sharp. Like a knife held just out of view. And that morning, it followed me.