Just For A Moment Novels & Stories

Through the memory of her smell on my skin. I palm myself once, just to remind my body who’s in charge. It doesn’t listen. I finish quickly, colder than when I started, and tell myself this will pass. Everything does. Even the things that shouldn’t.

“Yeah. You are.” He fell silent, trying to think how to say the next thing: that they couldn’t work long-term, but they could work just for a little while. That they had no hope for anything even approaching permanent, but they could commit to something temporary. That there was no future for them, but there was the present. There was this moment. There was now.

Time to end this one way or another. ***

He woke up from his sleep to a female voice, slowly opening his eyes to see her sitting next to him with a small side smile to smile and wink at her and say: "good morning" She approached him and put her hand on his cheek, passing her hand on him and imprinting a small kiss on his lips, saying: "Good morning." He straightened in his seat and got up from his bed to the bathroom, but she got up to get dressed to leave, and he came out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around his waist and holding a small towel with which he dried his brown hair, she smiled at him and said: "Will I see you again, I don't want it to be just a fleeting night"

TEMPORARY. Lasting for only a limited period of time, not permanent. The happiness of her new, real relationship with Dylan was violently short-lived. A sudden domestic moment, intended to solidify their bond, instead became the catalyst for a horrifying discovery. Anna was jolted into full awareness of the tangled web that connected Hannah, Dylan, and Liam, realizing that the perfect twin’s guilt was far deeper than she had imagined. Anna was finally staying at Dylan’s apartment full-time, her few boxes of belongings a quiet invasion of his perfectly minimal, expensive space. They had established a comfortable rhythm, their relationship functioning as a quiet, protective bubble against the

I took out my phone and scrolled to the one photo in the album where Mom was actually smiling. Finally, the boarding call came. Outside the window, Northbridge shrank smaller and smaller behind the plane. I leaned against the glass and closed my eyes. Mom's voice drifted up in my memory, as clear as if she were beside me. 'Ted, sweetheart. Life's like riding a train. Some people get on, some people get off. Don't let it weigh on you too much.' She was right. Mom had gotten off first. Chloe had reached her stop, too. Now, it was my turn to move on to whatever platform came next.

She didn't expect it I don't even realise I have reached my destination until I am standing in front of it. With all that thinking, I have overcome a thirty minutes walk from Natalie's. I walk on to the porch, take a very deep breath, release and then take it again and again. I'm really finding it hard to press the door bell. And my heart is beating fast as if I am going to die any moment from now. The door opens and it's aunt's son at it. He's smiling, I manage a smile and carrying him

But not drowning. We sit in silence. Just breathing the same air. Just existing. Just holding the pieces together for one more minute. Because sometimes, one minute is all someone needs.

he was the first to talk after picking the call Mom: how're you son?? Marcus: I'm fine Mom: I should have called earlier, but I just decided to give you time so you'll settle in. Marcus: Mom i I got here maybe thirty minutes ago, and if you ask me mom thirty minutes isn't enough time to settle in. Marcus already know his mom has something up her sleeve, that "giving you time to settle in" facade meant more. She laughed " you know it's late here already, I want to call you before I go to bed"

POV: Ezra Normal lasts exactly three minutes. I know because I count them. Not deliberately. Not at first. But after everything we just went through, time feels sharper. More defined. Every second carries weight, like it matters more than it should. Three minutes of silence. Three minutes of stability. Three minutes where nothing moves, nothing shifts, nothing threatens to rewrite the rules of reality around us. Three minutes where we almost believe it’s over. Then the ship registers something. It’s small.