If Your Heart Is Wavering Novels & Stories

Kimberly looked toward the Heart, which pulsed once more—slow, uncertain, alive. “I don’t know,” she said. “But the balance has changed. And this time, I’m not sure which side of it I belong to.”

The gradual discovery of respect, then desire, then love so profound it transcended the physical. I won't leave without you, Alex insisted, his determination forming a brilliant anchor in the void. Always so stubborn, Sonia's thoughts caressed his. That's what I fell in love with first—your absolute refusal to accept defeat. In the medical bay, the monitors tracking Alex's heart suddenly registered a faint, irregular beat. "We have cardiac activity," the doctor announced, redoubling efforts. "Push one more milligram epinephrine." James stepped forward, hope flaring. "Alex?"

The sound of his body hitting the floor was like a shockwave, sending ripples through the city. As he fell, the control he exerted over Erebus began to wane, and the AI's systems started to destabilize. Andrea's actions had set in motion a chain of events that would determine the city's fate. She felt a sense of trepidation, knowing that the path forward would be fraught with challenges.

My heart slams once, hard, like it’s answering back. I stumble back from the chair, breathing ragged. The shaking is uncontrollable now, the sweat rolling down my temple cold as ice. I drag a hand down my face, but the tremor doesn’t stop. Something’s wrong. I know that much. I lift my head and stare at the ceiling, trying to ground myself but all I see are flashes of her eyes. It fucks me up more. My heart won’t slow down.

The Heart pulsed again. But this time it didn’t feel like warning. It felt like curiosity. The void shifted closer. Not through aggression. Through attention. “You are proposing coexistence.” I hesitated. Then nodded again. “Yes.” Silence. For the first time since everything began, the void didn’t immediately respond. It didn’t reject. It didn’t accept. It considered. And in that consideration, something inside the Heart began to stabilize. Not completely. Not safely. But differently. Lyra whispered, almost afraid to speak too loudly, “Is it working?”

"Phoebe." His voice was low and deliberate as he said her name. "This period after the divorce has made me realize that I don't actually want to be divorced from you. Let's keep going like before." His heart slammed against his ribs the second the words left his mouth. He hadn't done any exercise, nor had he suffered any shocks, yet it felt like he was having full-on palpitations. His heart thudded fast, the rhythm fast and relentless. Was he actually developing a heart condition?

Russell’s voice was calm, but there was something hopeful in his eyes. “We want to know if you’d consider giving us another chance.” I stared at him then slowly whispered. “A chance?” Russell nodded. “Yes.” My mind raced. “You mean… like before?” Russell shook his head slowly. “No.” He stepped even closer. “Something more serious this time.” My heart skipped a bit. “What kind of serious?” Russell’s lips curved slightly. “Russell…” “Yeah?” “This is a lot.” Russell nodded. “I know.” I rubbed the back of my neck.

The steady pulse in my chest matched my life. It faltered once. Now it's beating forward.

The tendrils of this profound disillusionment had wrapped themselves around my heart, a noose of despair that tightened with each passing moment. The strength in my legs wavered, my body betraying the emotional tumult within me. As I staggered backward, my balance teetering on the precipice of collapse, I was reminded of the fragile nature of my existence. The room, once a stage for a clash of emotions, now became a chamber of broken dreams and shattered illusions, my steps echoing the fragmented pieces of my heart.

The word— Wavers. Like it’s losing stability. “I don’t understand it,” I say again. And just like before— That matters. The name— My name— Breaks. Not disappearing. Not gone. But no longer fixed. No longer something that can just exist without question. It becomes— Uncertain. And in that uncertainty— Something else moves. Not from outside. From within. A memory. Not clear. Not full. But real. A voice. Not the one from before. Not the one that kept saying that word.