Is A Silent Voice A Romance Novels & Stories

No words were said as we locked gazes, my fingertips feeling the race of his heart. It’s as if the world went silent. As we never broke the gaze, I could hear his beating heart, his whispered breath fanning against the skin of my neck as he spoke. “Do you think I don’t care about romance?”

Our silence feels comfortable and natural. I brew a pot of herbal tea later. The kettle whistles sharply. The soothing warmth of the steam fills the room. We sip from our mugs. His leg presses against mine. The closeness brings a quiet joy that settles deep in my chest. We laugh over a silly video he shows me. The sound bounces around the space and lightens everything. I lean into him fully. His arm tightens around me. The romance deepens with every small gesture. The recent controversy fades into a distant shadow.

But with each passing day, these whispers became louder, more persistent, making it harder for her to ignore them. Jane's silent love for Mike was a ticking time bomb, a storm brewing beneath the calm surface. Each laugh, each conversation, and each shared moment added to the intensity of her feelings, pushing her closer to the edge. As she stood on the brink of this emotional turmoil, Jane was about to embark on an extraordinary journey - a journey of love, of unspoken confessions, and of silent whispers of longing. Her story was just beginning. This was her story - the story of a girl who loved her best friend in silence, the story of silent whispers of love.

Amy Bond looks at Scarlett White silently crying with her knees hugged, feeling a twinge of pain in her heart. "If you care so much about him, why not tell him everything about that year? What are you two now? Riding the trend of hidden marriage? He's a wealthy eligible bachelor, and you, a virtuous wife, helping him pick up girls, flirt, and be filial to elders?" "I can't say," Scarlett White blinks her eyes and mutters, "I promised them..." Watching her in this state, Amy Bond is both angry and heartbroken. She gets up to settle the bill, and when she returns, Scarlett White has already fallen asleep.

This is bad, I sigh inwardly as I feel myself tighten. “Did we die?” She returns to her seat, her eyes still closed and I chuckle. “You’re not getting away from me that easy missy.” I say, smiling as I ruffle her hair and the silence returns. From the first time we met, silence seems to be her comfort. Maybe getting involved was the best decision I’ve made in my life after all. Smiling to myself I take her hand again and we drive in the warmth of the stillness that envelopes us, before we reach our destination.

His voice dropped lower, speaking Italian so soft and tender it made my heart clench. She quieted almost instantly, her cheek pressed to him, soothed by the rhythm of his heartbeat. I watched them, tears stinging my eyes. “She knows your voice.” Roman looked at me over her tiny head. “And yours. She turns toward you even when you whisper.” The lump in my throat grew. I reached for them, my hand brushing over Isabella’s back, then higher, to Roman’s chest. “We made her,” I said, the words half in awe. “She’s… us.”

You can't act on impulse and ruin the pack's future. I finally interrupted Mother. "You've said so much, but not once have you asked whether I was suffering." At that moment, a deep rumbling noise outside shattered the deadlock. As a sleek sports car pulled up at the door, an elegant, striking she-wolf stepped into the hall. The moment she appeared, Rhett rushed toward her excitedly. "Lyra! You're finally here! I've missed you so much that you were even in my dreams." They walked past me, hand in hand, treating me like air.

Instead, we continued basking in the silence that was gripping us in the throat. It was too quiet, and I hated it because the voices in my head became so loud, drowning out my thoughts. Right now, there was only one thing I could think of that could silence those voices, and I didn’t want to think; I just did. I raised my head up, meeting his eyes, and I did what I have always wanted to do. I kissed his lips, a rather chaste one, with our lips just brushing, but the contact was enough to silence those voices in my head.

“Isidora.” My hands trembled. Dante noticed. He moved closer; he grounded me without touching. I inhaled before answering. Not because I was afraid, but I needed to feel where I was standing. The marble beneath my feet. The heat of his hands around mine. The room was watching me without knowing me. I gazed properly at Dante once, the way you stare at someone when you’re about to say the absolute truth in a way that can never be taken back. “I was brought up to believe that love is silent,” I said. A few people shifted. The officiant stilled. “That it should ask politely. That it should not force space or change the course of things already decided.” I swallowed, steadied myself.

Louder ones followed before the door swung open. “Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment?” Her voice was laced with gentle anger. She wasn’t angry at me, she was angry that I wasn’t engaging in her conversation. I held that power, reveling in the idea that I could speak if I wanted to but chose not to. I never intended to be a jerk about things, it was purely because if I opened my mouth, I was scared of what would spill out; much like that kiss. Emiliana began to recite, word for word, a quote from the book in my hands. She stopped mid-sentence and I wasn’t sure why. Her beautiful voice blended well with the Italian language and it was an addictive melody to my ears.