Crying Hearts Novels & Stories

"Damn, you haven't even taken out your pencil case, lazy ass." "This teacher has it out for me. I hate this school, and even more so this subject." I really hated it, and I had reasons: 1) the uniform was ugly, hideous, dreadful, and painful to look at; 2) the colors green and mustard yellow were the most accurate combination to represent how crappy the school itself was; 3) the football team was a bunch of jocks who kept studying because of their parents' money; 4) the rules were ridiculous, no smoking in the institution, that was one, although hardly anyone followed it...

Inside was a single sheet of matte black paper, the message printed in faint grey type, like a whisper in ink: You’re not the only one watching. You’ve got forty-eight hours before someone decides your past isn’t worth hiding. No signature. No mark. But the phrasing… sharp, precise. It reminded her of the way Leo Knight spoke—only this was colder, less amused. Her mind moved fast—cross-referencing jobs, old contacts, burned clients—but there were too many possibilities. She turned the page over, and a smaller slip of paper fell out. A photograph. Her chest tightened.

Maya let out a bitter laugh, tears welling up in her eyes—yet not a single drop dared to fall. That familiar pride, that unyielding dignity, wouldn't let her break. "Maya," she muttered to herself, a tight whisper lost in the night, "what are you still hoping for? He never had you in his heart." Just then, her phone buzzed. It was a message from Diana. "Maya, now you finally see it, don't you? Oscar's heart was never with you. If I wanted, he'd toss you aside in a second."

But the whole time, she was all he could see. I had trusted the institute's lies in my last life and delivered my sister into their hands, only to watch her die in agony. In the end, Victor had died for me. When his eyes met mine now, all I saw was hatred. "Anya is your sister. Do you even realize what you're doing? I've never met a woman in this world as vicious as you! Do you even have a heart?!" He had always been so gentle, yet the words he threw at me cut like knives.

Then the sobs came. Loud. Shattered. Ugly. Clara dropped everything and rushed to me, wrapping her arms around my trembling form. She held me tightly, whispering nothing but soft sounds as I collapsed in her arms. I clung to her, crying harder than I ever had in my life. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to. She just held me. Kissed my hair. Stroked my back. And let me cry. My heart had been handed to Vincent… and now it lay crushed beneath the weight of his silence and her lies.

He was too numb to tell his mind to think of something — a giant hole quickly found a permanent home in his heart. "Why…? Why should it be…him?" David cried out loud, his voice breaking with emotions that left poisonous marks on his heart muscles. To be quite frank, no one should be able to cry that hard and there was David who did just that — crying his lungs out — crying his heart out — crying his eyes out.

Heartbreak. Cerise didn't realize that's what she's feeling at this moment. Tears stream down her face. Her stomach in twists, head buzzing and ears ringing. Her heart hurts so much and she can't seem to find a way to stop it. She forgets everything else but the pain, falling into a desperate, depressive state.

It really hurts so much… I don’t like this pain… Mommy… Please make this pain go away… What did I do wrong? I am sorry… I just want you to like me… Please stop being mean to me…. It hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts…

"The heart of the crying is there." They followed her lead, moving past the listless villagers to the village square. In the center was a stone well, ancient and covered in slick, black moss. But it wasn't a well for drawing water. The stones of the well itself were weeping. Slow, constant tears of water seeped from between the cracks, pooling around the base and feeding the ever-present mud. This was the source. The Heartspring of Oakhaven was not a source of life, but of sorrow.

🦋 NIKITA 🦋 Crying became an anthem and fear became a close friend, I still sat in one corner, fighting a battle between my mental health and physical health. A memory of Reyna being killed by Benita flashed through my mind again, and I buried my head deeper between my laps, trembling. I felt as if I was hit by a tidal wave, my emotions crashing down on me like an unrelenting storm. Tears streamed down my face, hot and bitter, as I wept uncontrollably.