Fragile Longing Novels & Stories

At that time, I had been carrying twins. The grief shattered me—so completely that my heart stopped beating. I barely survived. The last pregnancy lasted the longest. Seven months. For the first time, I dared to hope. I thought, maybe this time, I’d finally give birth. But fate had other plans. … Lucas sat there the entire time, utterly indifferent, as if the children I lost had nothing to do with him. Beside him, Vanessa looked down at me, eyes glinting with triumph, her smirk filled with condescension.

My fingers dug into the seat, gripping as if holding onto life itself. Damian exhaled slowly, his hand still covering mine, the faintest tremor in his grip revealing just how fragile he was too. “Vivian… I’m still here. I… I’m still here.” But even as he spoke, the fear lingered, gnawing at the edges of my sanity. The world had shifted. Everything we had known, everything we had held onto, felt fragile, broken, and uncertain. I pressed my forehead to his arm, clinging to him, to the small anchor that was still real in a sea of chaos. My sobs shook my body, each one a desperate plea to the universe to spare him, to spare us, to let the fragile life within me have a chance.

Cyrus scoffed sarcastically before going out to get some coffee for himself but he was stuck at his place on the door listening to what Denzel was talking. "I know i know i am late. But wasn’t it worth the attempts? I crave for him too but you know i can’t go intimate with him, especially now. Bright, Win, you have been with me in this journey when i couldn’t share my pain with anyone. Not even with. Am so thankful to you. And this gift. It had completed me. Nattarine, Nattarika and now this baby. Or babies, i don’t know. But they have completed me. You can’t even imagine how much i have longed for my kids. And now it’s like dream come true". He was excitedly talking unaware of the person in

The way he looked at him on the ice. Jax buried his face in his pillow, torn between rage and a deep, aching longing he couldn’t escape. Everything was falling apart faster now. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending it wasn’t.

We still weren’t together. Nothing had been fixed. But for the first time in months, something felt different. Not forgiveness. Not reconciliation. Just possibility. A tiny crack in a wall that had seemed impossible to break. I walked upstairs and stopped beside the nursery door. My hand rested briefly against the wood. The familiar ache returned. The grief. The loss. The regret. Those things weren’t gone. They probably never would be. But another feeling existed beside them now. A fragile feeling. A dangerous feeling. Hope.

Tears are threatening to fall and I can’t stop them no matter how hard I try. I cried every single night and day in the three months that passed. No matter how I try to be strong in front of everyone, at the end of the day, there is this lingering longing feeling inside me that makes me break into pieces. I am a broken glass glued together to look whole. Pour water into me and I’ll break in an instant. “I miss you.” Oh, God knows how I’d kill to have him right now. I miss him too much that I would even sell my soul to hell if that’s how I would have him back.

It would be so easy to chase that future. To anchor it. To demand it. Desire is leverage too. Time pushes the memory harder. I see a child running across wooden floors. I feel small fingers gripping mine. I hear laughter that has not yet existed. My chest tightens. I want it. God, I want it. And time knows. Because longing creates movement. Movement restores the circle. I let the memory burn without stepping toward it. I lower the axe carefully. I breathe. In. Out. My side aches again — the phantom wound reminding me that mortality is not theoretical.

They stood there, enveloped in a moment of fragile vulnerability and hesitant hope. As their eyes locked, a myriad of emotions played out like a dance between their souls. Doubt wrestled with longing, and the scars of the past mingled with the desire for a future untainted by pain. It was a delicate tightrope they walked, knowing that the path to forgiveness would be paved with uncertainty and sacrifice.

And it makes me stop breathing for a second because I can feel it, the emptiness she’s describing, like the echo of a room stripped bare. “Nothing made sense, you know,” she continues, and I hear the inhale she tries to pass off as steady but it trembles at the start. “There was frustration, annoyance… and at the same time there was longing. A deep, heart-wrenching longing. Like I was incomplete, and a part of me wasn’t with me.”

Countless hours wasted just sitting in silence, staring at the figure of the man she missed through his social media. Her fingers always caressed the phone screen, and her heart always uttered the man's name. She spent her nights daydreaming about being his girlfriend. However, she always hoped that her feelings would be eroded away someday. She hoped that time would make her forget about the man. But in reality, none of that ever happened. The longing she tried to trim always grew thick each time. Especially when she visited her stepmother's mother's house. Memories of Gladwin, conversations about the man, made Flavia feel even closer to him. As if the man never left. As if the man was alwa