My Humble Abode Novels & Stories

Adam chuckled softly at Ayana's remark, the sound echoing gently through the spacious room. "Well, I suppose 'humble' might not be the most accurate description," he admitted with a wry smile. "But it's home." Ayana couldn't help but smile at his response, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort settle over her as she gazed around the room. Despite the opulence that surrounded them, there was an air of coziness and familiarity that made Adam's house feel welcoming and inviting.

That definitely wouldn’t end well. We hadn’t even stopped but I was already gaping at the beautiful house in front of us. It wasn’t too big but you could tell it was expensive. “Welcome to our humble abode,” He said gesturing to the house. “It’s beautiful,” I said dreamily, staring in awe at the finely cut edges and painting. “Yea, yea,” he said shrugging. I smacked him again, gaining myself a chuckle and an ouch from him. “This ain’t humble,” I stated matter of fact.

♥Amyla Robert♥ I am called Amyla Robert. And this is my story. Some years back when I was 6yrs old, I became miserable. That is, I was Sullen, gloomy, sad, gloomy. And depressed All these started because of the environment I grew up in... My Dad would always bite my Mom up and give her bruises everywhere They never really had time for me...as they lived their life with no shame I never really had friends either because my parents would always live me at home with my Nany...Miss Jane

Or a snare? For a second, I think of just getting rid of the message. But then I remember the nights I've spent alone in this dirty hotel room, and I realize I have nothing left. I don't have any family, any money, or anything else. All I have is my pride, and even that is starting to feel like a burden. I brush my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath as the phone vibrates again. Another email came from the same address. "The layout is easy. You can stay here if you give me your company. No strings attached. "Please respond if you're willing, and we'll talk about the details."

What about you? Abby: I’m great, thanks! Abby: Get dressed and wear something nice. I’m coming to pick you up in half an hour. Me: Uh… why? Abby: I feel like tequila and dancing. So, I’m taking you out! Abby: Plus, you need to be social. It’s not healthy to stay home all the time. Me: Okay, okay! I’ll go out. Abby: Yay! See you soon. I shoved my phone into my pocket as I walked inside. My home was modern and comfortable, with large windows that allowed natural light to flood the rooms. Clean lines, neutral colors, and stylish furniture gave the house an elegant feel while still making it feel warm and welcoming.

"Ah, Bàbá ọmọ Adéyẹmí ní mi sir. A ní ìsinmi ní ilé ìwé l'aṣè wà." "Ò dà, ẹ o ṣ'aṣèyọ̀ri." The old man prayed for us. "Amin," we said and bid the old man farewell. We continued walking till we got to a beautiful, modest house, quite different from the mud houses around. The bungalow sat at the end of a long, weed-choked driveway. Becca stepped onto the tiled floor, her footsteps leaving clear prints of the mud. It was a beautiful house—large windows, heavy royal-blue brocade curtains, and a well equipped kitchen—but it felt weird.

They couldn't believe the daughter they were so proud of would do something so… filthy and immoral. George was shaking in rage. He stepped ahead, trying to confront Zack, but he shoved George into the shoe cabinet. "Ms. Sampson's villa doesn't let homeless people in. I can't believe you're her father-in-law. Look at you. Even a homeless guy wears better than you." Zack scoffed. Mockery was oozing from his tone. George was groaning in pain, and color was draining from his face. I held him and called the maid to help us out. This was an emergency.

I kind of hate how comfortable it is starting to feel. We reach the gate. It creaks a little as I push it open. My bungalow sits quietly beneath a cluster of trees, pale porch light flickering like it’s unsure whether to stay on. It’s not big. It’s not fancy. But it’s home. I take a breath. “Welcome to Casa Zen.”

Carter had texted me the address along with a series of laughing emojis and the words "happy birthday you beautiful bastard." The building didn't look like much from outside. Brick facade, purple neon sign, a line of people waiting behind a velvet rope. The bouncer was huge, easily six-five, with arms like tree trunks. I walked past the line. A few people shouted complaints but I ignored them. The bouncer's expression didn't change as I approached. "Private booth," I said. "I bought it a day earlier." He looked me up and down, taking in my expensive watch and tailored shirt. "ID."

Adora let out a soft laugh, utterly unmoved by his outrage. "This is my home. I have every right to live here. Since when does not being thrown out onto the street count as an act of kindness? Isn’t that just the bare minimum?"