Hesitation Synonym Novels & Stories

Vetu quiet, and for sone seconds, I couldn't recognize myself again. "You didn't," he said finally, but I didn't know the reason for his response. "Then why..." ""Be each I tried, you made me hesitate." I froze instantly, how possible was that? "What?" His voice was now very low, dropping to match his tone. "Men like me has no business hesitating. We don't do it for anything, not for anyone." He said. My heart rate increased, pounding wildly as he spoke. "And tonight...I did hesitate." He continued.

He seemed to have seen the hesitation in my eyes as he continued to speak after a couple of seconds, “Please don't try to lie because I already can tell that you suck at it. Also, hesitating doesn't look good on you.” "I agree," I responded immediately. I don't even know why I hesitated when that was something I don't usually do. I am the type of person who always says what I have in mind without thinking twice. Once I decide to do or say something, I always do it head-on. Maybe because I did not want to offend him? "So, what was the hunch that you had?" He asked again, one of his eyebrows raised again. "I want to hear it." "Desperately?" I asked in a joking manner, a wide grin spread across

There was hesitation in my voice. “Yes."

He is in a state of suspended anticipation that has made him unable to do anything else. I don’t know if English has a better word. I suspect you do. PD FROM: isadora.crane@literarybridge.co.uk TO: piers.devaux@devaux-writes.fr SUBJECT: RE: Chapter Seven English has “anticipate” which is the hoping without the suspension. It has “dread” which is the suspension without the hope. It doesn’t have the combination. I will use “Thomas stood by the window and held his breath for the letter” because held breath is the physical expression of a person in suspension between two possible states.

she whimpered. The gravity of what we were doing suddenly hit me like a freight train. Oh shit. We were about to have sex! My daughter was about to impale herself on my shaft. I couldn't understand where the fuck my hesitation came from, all things considered. But as I watched her pussy rise higher, nearly at its zenith above my quivering staff, I felt a moment of doubt wash over me. It seemed so out of place, but I couldn't deny it. Somehow there seemed to be a vast canyon of difference between what we had done to that point, and what we were on the brink of doing next. My hesitation came out in a few nonsensical babblings, "Liv, I... we can't... I don't think..."

They could. But something inside them resisted it. Something deeper than choice. Across the street, a group of people suddenly paused at the same time. Not synchronized. But similar hesitation patterns. One of them said: “I feel like I shouldn’t go that way.” Another nodded. “Same.” They turned together. Lena watched silently. “…this is spreading even when we’re apart,” she whispered. Zayden nodded. “Yes.” A pause. “…because it’s already inside them.” Eliot stood very still.

Hesitation could be costly. The first participant stepped forward. His name was Julian, a sharp strategist known for his aggressive tactics. “Good morning,” he said, voice smooth but edged with challenge. “I understand you are new. I am curious how you handle pressure.” I met his gaze steadily. “Good morning. I assess the situation carefully, consider outcomes, and respond in a way that aligns with strategic objectives.” Julian smiled faintly. “Impressive for someone new. But strategy is only part of the game. Instinct matters as well.”

he agreed. “But they’re not clean.” Silence. Heavy. Immediate. Because that That wasn’t an insult. That was analysis. And it was accurate. She knew it. He knew it. And neither of them could deny it. “You hesitate,” he added. “Only when it comes to him.” Her chest rose slightly. Controlled. Measured. But not calm. “I don’t hesitate.” “You did tonight.” That hit. Because it was specific. Because it was real. Because she remembered it.

“I do when you’re talking about someone I—” I stop. Too late. He catches it instantly. “Someone you what?” Silence stretches. Heavy. I don’t answer. Because I don’t have the words for it. Not ones I want to say to him. “Exactly,” he says. Cold. Controlled. “That hesitation? That’s the problem.” My grip tightens. “That’s not hesitation.” “That’s attachment.” The word lands like a hit to the chest. “You want to play in the pros?” he continues. “Then you don’t get attached.”

“Even with fear.” “Yes.” Another pause. Longer this time. He steps closer. Close enough that I can feel it. That same pull. That same connection. “Then that’s your answer,” he says quietly. My breath catches. “What?” “You don’t remove the hesitation,” he continues. “You choose through it.” The words hit differently. Because they’re not cold. Not calculated. They’re… something else. Understanding. “You finally get it,” I whisper. “Maybe,” he admits. A faint, almost invisible shift in his expression.