If I Stay Book Novels & Stories

But just before he stepped out, he turned again. "You're really okay?" I parted my lips. Suddenly, a thin thread of hope rose inside me. "If I weren't okay… would you stay with me?" He paused—only for a heartbeat—then smiled. "Cammy, don't be ridiculous. Rita's still waiting for me at the hospital. Go to bed early. I'm leaving." The door closed. And I finally broke. I cried for choosing the wrong man. I cried for how foolish I was—still holding out hope for someone who had already shown me the ending.

A stage. The café is useful, but it belongs to the first act. For the second, I want a room with corners and a reason to linger. Bookstores are perfect for this—civilized shelters where time softens. I text a friend who programs events for a small chain that believes in author talks and soft chairs. “Short notice,” I write, because for people like us it rarely is, “but I’ll underwrite the Thursday panel if you add a seat for a ‘narrative strategist’ to speak about building story for digital brands.” I don’t need her on the stage—yet—but I need the pretext. The invitation can arrive tomorrow, through the same agency channels as the inquiry, language calibrated to feel improbable and therefore

The knot of resentment in my chest miraculously loosened, and a genuine smile spread across my face for the first time in days. "You're right. This wasn't my fault. I need to move on." Maybe it was the excitement of seeing an ex-classmate after so long, but Clara and I seemed to have endless things to talk about. When I learned she had just returned to the country and hadn't found a place to stay yet, I volunteered to help her look for an apartment. Since I'd soon be transferring to a branch office in another city, she only needed a place temporarily. Short-term rentals were hard to come by, and after several days of searching, we came up empty-handed.

i buried that name under forged papers and cold silence but as we know some names don’t stay dead for long. I spent the last week convincing myself that hiding was strategy, not surrender and that staying invisible was the same as staying alive but by the fourth night of staring at cracked ceilings while listening to my own heartbeat, I realized hiding was just another cage so I reached for the small burner phone under the mattress and typed three words that changed everything.”We need to meet.”

Harold finally caved to their relentless curiosity, "Okay, okay, no more questions. We're off to Lunaris Inn later for some stargazing." Out of nowhere, Selena piped up, "Lunaris Inn, that's the spot for lovers—pricey and oh-so-romantic. It's open just once a month, and our Alpha snagged the grandest suite. They say it's a glass palace that glows wild and beautiful in the moonlight... Talk about a couple goals for our alpha and his mate." My polite grin was on the verge of cracking. I was in the dark about such intimate plans, yet Selena was in the know before me.

“Especially then.” I lean my head against his arm, just for a second. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper. He turns slightly, his breath stirring my hair. “Good.” And for the first time, I’m not just staying because I need to or I am contracted to but I’m staying because against everything I planned.. I want to stay. I want to stay with Alex Bianchi.

Thank you so much for reading my book, Next update will come so soon.

It was the perfect escape from the problems back at home, a refreshing place to wash their minds from all the baleful air and sticky sludge. Anna hummed, laying backward onto the bed, “This is like a little, hidden heaven…I feel like never leaving this place. How long are we staying?” Ella frowned at Anna and kicked the side of her head with her foot and Anna got offended, rolled onto her tummy and quickly worked her limbs until she was kneeling on the bed and grabbing at Ella’s legs.

Harmony I was trying to prevent myself from shaking while I was staring at my laptop. I don’t know what to feel about a post on Friendbook related to me. While I was trying to calm down, I continued to stare at a photo posted with a mocking caption. It was me, standing on a stage while in the midst of holding back my tears. The caption says, "Wow, look at your dumb rich girl stuttering through a debate. Is that all you can do? "

And fuck it because I’ve never even sent her a single damn message. I ran towards my car and drove off. If my love’s still in my hotel, I’d beg her to stay. I’ll make her stay with me no matter what. I’d fly with her to Chicago and ask her hand and make her my wife. Fuck. I’m that desperate, alright. I won’t even let her work. She only needs to be beside me to keep me sane. Stan called me and I immediately answered it. He was in the meeting, I know. I need to know if she has really left or she's still in her room.