Dialogue Stories Novels & Stories

The breeze carried the faint scent of the lake. Everything felt peaceful. We walked side by side for what felt like hours. Talking about everything. Family. Dreams. Childhood memories. The mistakes we'd made. The lessons we'd learned. The places we still wanted to visit. The lives we imagined for ourselves. The conversation flowed effortlessly. At one point, I found myself telling stories I'd never planned on sharing. Stories from childhood. Stories about my grandparents. Stories about my parents. Jack listened to every word. Not pretending to listen.

] The calls and messages between Conrad and me had now turned into those between Horace and me. Though Horace was sick and didn't talk much. He didn't reply to this message. Not long after, a popular drama suddenly appeared online. A nobleman was saved by an orphaned girl and secretly vowed to marry her. But the orphan girl was from a poor family, and the nobleman came from a prestigious family, so the marriage was forbidden. Of course, in the end, they broke through societal norms and lived happily ever after. At the conclusion of the show, the nobleman spoke passionately, "What does it matter if you're a commoner? Why can't a commoner be the head of the family? A gentleman always repays ki

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He mutters under his breath, “I am not getting lectured on morality by two tiny gremlins.” “We heard that,” Nolan says. I lose it. A laugh bursts out before I can stop it, and Noah shoots me a look, half warning, half something softer “Okay, enough.” Noah sighs. “Two stories.” “Three,” Nolan counters immediately, negotiating like a miniature CEO preparing a hostile takeover. “Two. You won't even last through all the stories.” “I have all the cards, Dad. Three stories. Take it or leave it.” Noah glares, but Nolan doesn’t budge. Eventually, Noah’s shoulders sag in defeat. “Fine.”

A life spent looking backwards misses all the beauty that lies in front of it. Your parents aren’t perfect. You might have realize this. But you’re pretty darn smart. So, like I said before, we have to forgive ourselves or the coulda, woulda, shoulda, fear and anxiety will creep into a crack of our weaknesses, and overcome us. Please know we’re not perfect, and we will never claim to be. Our personal journeys have stories to tell. THAT’S for sure. When it comes time for stories, though, talk to me first… because chances are your father’s are going to be inappropriate. HA!

The above sentences are the thoughts of the author about what he thinks, but it is my duty to tell all the things he has in his mind. The space science and the beginning of the human era, why I always talk about the past, why I'm interested in the dead stories, why I tell a tale of another time, why I don't like the present and, also why I'm not narrating about those dumbasses who were about to close the mysterious case of random killing by an unidentified criminal (creature)? You might have so many questions and confusions about the fact that I puzzle a simple story in what we call a Riddle…? But you can still believe in me that I'll give you a gift tomorrow.

Some stories started with hate. This one ended with everything.

There was one solitary, big book on a low table between them. "The title of the tale is The Binding of Autumn," he began, his voice an entrancing whisper just in harmony with the shriek of the fire. “It's the tale of a harvest god who offers a mortal woman a choice: one night of absolute freedom for one year of unimaginable riches for her people." He didn't move as his eyes met hers. "The consent is the matter at hand. It must be freely bestowed, not coerced, and whispered three times into the skin of his throat." “Do you have any idea what sort of story you're going to be reading me tonight?”

“I can just send the pictures directly to your DM.” I yanked his phone from him for the second time today. “Posted,” I said to him. “Naughty girl." he bopped my nose with his fingers. “Well, you can't do without this naughty girl.” I laughed. “I am very happy that we are back together as friends.” “I am happy too. Let us gist. I am bored." “Gossiper!” “It is not gossip. it is gisting. They are two different things.” I hissed. He laughed. God! He looks very handsome when he laughs. I took a moment to register how he looks when laughing in my mind.

Erick stared into her eyes and confidently said. “Yes! I really want to know! “ She smiled and put on a serious face, took a bite of her ice cream before saying. “It was a long, long time ago!” Erick looked at the beginning of the story with great interest, and Simone said when she knew that she had all his attention. “You were traveling on a merchant ship, and you had to take a shipment of gold to Porto del Rey!” Erick heard that line and his spirits deflated. He looked at Simone with a hint of disappointment in his eyes, and the girl looking at him was silent. For a minute, a deep non-verbal communication began, and he understood that these stories did something more for her than for him.