Novel & Cerita Diary A Novel

"No. We should apologize instead." We held each other and broke down in tears. Leonard was still in a critical stage. Meanwhile, the content of his diary was published on the Internet. The diary recorded every moment we had spent together. I sat on the bench outside the ICU, and my phone kept vibrating. "Liv, have you seen the news? Leonard's diary has gone viral on the Internet!" "Oh my God! You guys had such great memories together!" "He loves you so much…" I tapped on my phone. The topic at the top of the trending list read, "high school memories of Leonard Burton."

To give them the reaction they came for. Bianca steps forward angrily. “You bitch—” I catch her wrist. “Don’t.” “But, Angel—” “Please.” My voice is so quiet that even I barely hear it. I look down at the books scattered across the wet pavement. Then I see it. My diary. It lies beside them, its leather cover splashed with coffee. Everything inside me goes still—I can replace my hoodie. I can buy new textbooks. I can wash the coffee from my skin.

LMAO. I would never be in her place because I was damned fat. I tried to go on a diet control but it didn't work in my favor. It was a waste of time. I managed to tear my gaze away from his phone but my eyes caught an open diary laying on his bed, its pages filled with his neat handwriting. I knew I shouldn’t invade his privacy. I knew I should just walk away. But Dylan told me everything. What could he possibly be writing that I didn’t already know?

I opened the diary to the year where I met Pietro. February 27, 2001. I closed my eyes and tried recalling his face. Whitney sat down while looking at me, she waits patiently. I closed the door and hugged the opened diary. I knelt down and started thinking of that year. Slowly, I started chanting To thee I bestow my soul, salvage my bane life back in time. I beseech thy salvation. I bestow my forlorn life to eternity. Grant me your benediction

**David’s POV** Here in my New York apartment, as the relentless city rain echoes my mood, I find myself repeatedly drawn to the old, worn pages of Scarlet’s diary. This morning, the echoes of last night's indulgence weigh heavy, a migraine pulsing in the background as I numb it with the usual analgesic. But the diary demands attention once again. I flip to the last entry, a letter penned for me, her "Bumblebee," written in a moment of profound solitude and clarity.

The sides of the pages of the diary crumble in my hands and are reduced to ashes. The sun has come out and I start to sweat. I look at the diary. It has nothing written on the cover, except the year—2010—which is faded. There is no auto in sight. I sit on the pavement and flip through the contents. It is nearly full. The handwriting is not the best, but it is neat and deliberate. The first few pages are damaged beyond recognition. The top-right corners of the pages keep crumbling into charcoal.

I had always assumed that it was something I did wrong when I was a child, something I was punished for but now I knew I did nothing wrong, this was just my cursed fate. Picking up the diary as instructed, and examining it first, I noticed a lot of things. It was a brown worn out big book decorated with gems. I could see from the side that its pages were worn out and some were even torn. “Whose diary is it?” I wondered anxiously, I knew it belonged to one of them but only when I opened it would I find who it actually belonged to, so I tried to open it but I couldn't. It didn't have a lock, didn't have any password slot, it looked like an ordinary book but it just wouldn't open up.

All their earlier promises meant nothing then. -------------- Dear Diary… It is a lonely place, a dungeon, when you are locked up on your own and left alone too. I guess he has a home to return to. And I have no wolf to talk to now either. Just four walls to look at. If this is how things go, I am likely to go insane… ----------------

She is mine. It was all there. The diary started when I was a teenager. This arrogant, tyrannical Mafia boss, my sworn enemy, had been secretly, almost pathologically, obsessed with me for years, like a worshipper at a twisted shrine. Just as I was reeling, the study door opened. Lorenzo stood in the doorway, his eyes full of a deep, dark despair. "Back again? Stealing my secrets for that man?" He gave a hollow, bitter laugh, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Daisy, my patience has a—"

Maybe not everything, maybe not enough to ruin me yet—but enough to remind me how precarious all of this was. My steps home blurred, every face in the crowd suddenly suspect. My apartment felt less like shelter and more like glass walls waiting to be shattered. I dropped my bag on the table and pulled out my notebook, flipping through the pages. Names, dates, sensations scrawled in my messy hand. The evidence of everything I’d been. He was right. Diaries beg to be read. But maybe… maybe they can also be rewritten.