Im Broken Mga Nobela at Kwento

I had become a broken vessel, shattered and discarded, just like the windows of my soul. As I stood there, swaying on unsteady feet, I couldn't help but feel like a mere pile of mud, trampled on by the world around me. My spirit was fractured, my hope shattered. But deep down, buried beneath the layers of pain, a flicker of defiance remained. A small voice whispered, "Maybe, just maybe, there's a way to piece myself back together."

"I'm better now. You can see I'm better." "You are not fully better," I said. My tone was hard. It did not invite an argument. "And I am not just talking about your legs. Not completely." A heavy, quiet silence fell between us. He knew what I meant. The healing I was talking about wasn't just in his body. It was in his mind. In his memories. In the places inside him that were still broken from the accident. A walking stick cannot fix those kinds of wounds. He looked down at the floor for a moment. Then he looked right back up at me. His next question came out of nowhere. It was sharp and clear.

“I had three children looking at me. Waiting for me to be strong.” He set his cup down on the table carefully. “I know I hurt you.” I turned back to face him. “Do you?” I asked. He swallowed. “Yes.” I walked closer again, stopping just a few steps away from him. “My heart was broken,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Not cracked. Not slightly damaged. Broken.” His jaw tightened. “Can you tell me something?” I continued. He nodded slowly. “If a glass breaks… if it shatters into pieces… can you put it back together and make it look the same again?”

“I didn’t know it was possible to love this much. It makes everything feel louder, brighter, and scarier too.” She wraps her arms around me and holds on tight. “That’s what love does. It opens you up. Makes you brave and vulnerable all at once. But I’d rather you feel all of this than walk through life numb.” “I used to think I was broken,” I whisper. “Before I met them. Before I understood what I was. I always felt I was different, that I didn’t really fit. But now… now I feel more whole than I ever have.” Mum presses a kiss to my head. “You were never broken. You just hadn’t found the ones who could see all your pieces and love you harder because of them.”

He would have managed, of course, because she was a friend, but it would have been exhausting. “Okay, we’ve talked about my broken fingers now,” he said and took a quick swig from his beer. “What about your broken heart? Or did you break his?” She blinked at the unusual introduction but seemed okay with it. “No…” she slowly said while stirring around in her soup. “He broke mine.” She ate a spoonful, before she continued. ”It’s a bit complicated. Because actually–” Suddenly her voice failed her and she turned away, blinking frantically to chase away tears.

Because based on his advices, he seems to be an expert in the problem I am facing. "I don't think you can win her back. Remember this Del Mundo, not everything that breaks is restored. Cianna's fragile, and you know that fragile should be handled with care because once it's broken, it can't be repaired. Glasses, vases and other fragile materials—ike this. . ." "What the h*ll!" I screamed after he dropped the glass he was holding. "Look at that glass, I broke it. Now, let me fix it." He knelt down to pick up the broken pieces of glass one by one.

That I was alright. No matter what, I was going to be OK... I shook my head. Who was I kidding? I was broken beyond repair…

"Listen to me. Really listen. You are not weapon. You are not mistake. You are not wrong. You are extraordinary. Different. Special. And yes, that makes things hard. Makes fitting in impossible. Makes normal life—difficult. But that does not make you wrong. That makes you rare. That makes you—priceless." "I do not feel priceless. I feel broken." "Broken is how we feel before we heal. Broken is temporary. Broken is—human. Everyone feels broken sometimes. Even normal people. Especially normal people. You think Marco does not feel broken? You think Sophie does not have nights where she cries and feels wrong? Everyone does. Everyone hurts. Everyone struggles. You are not alone in that. You are j

Because once when I'm alone this is me. The foolish, Stupid Broken Adassah. Who does nothing about her broken heart but to cry in pain again and again.

Somewhere between my second cup of coffee and his third whiskey, the distance between us disappeared. After a while, I leaned back, sighing. “You ever think maybe we’re all just… broken people who met at the wrong time?” Tomas chuckled. “That’s the most poetic shit I’ve heard in weeks.” “I’m serious.” “So am I,” he said. “But maybe that’s what makes it work. Broken recognizes broken.” That line stuck in my chest. He wasn’t wrong. I smiled, small but genuine. “You know what? For someone who works for a mob family, you’re not half bad.”