My Love Isn't Fragile Novels & Stories

God, I wanted to so badly. But belief is fragile when you’ve had it ripped from you before. I lowered my gaze to my hands twisted in my lap. “I’m not saying it’s fixed. We’re not…fixed. But tonight…” My voice cracked, and I hated it. “Tonight felt like the man I fell in love with.” He crossed the room in two strides, kneeling in front of me again just as he had at the gala. But here, in the quiet, it wasn’t for show. It was just us.

“…this.” I closed my eyes, letting myself feel the tremor of his words, the weight and beauty of them. There was triumph here, yes—triumph over enemies, over betrayal, over fear, but also an acknowledgment of fragility. Life was delicate. Love was delicate. Trust was delicate. And yet, in this fragile, fleeting moment, I knew nothing could shatter the bond we had. He kissed the top of my head softly, lingering there, and I pressed a hand to his cheek, marveling at the contrast of his rugged features against the tenderness he now exuded. “I love you,” I whispered.

I thought she loved me like I did but looks like she is just using me. “You are going to leave for America anyway. So obviously I need a new one. And he is far more better than you" She scoff and left me alone in dumbfounded. A few days ago my father defied to sent me to America. It’s not that I did not protested but I can’t refuse my dad. He is basically a leader of mafia and owner of multinational companies. Its not that my parents are bad or anything. They are the nicest larents i could ever ask for. And since i I am the only child they would do anything for me. maybe that is why they are sending me to america. But Anyway I though we can keep this long distant relationship. Looks like ano

Larry's tender kisses in the morning light were not mere rituals but a proclamation of love, a promise that the dawn held hope even in the face of uncertainty. Their love, weathered by the storms of adversity, emerged not as a fragile blossom but as a resilient bloom that found strength in the most unlikely of places. Larry and Sophia, in the throes of life's unpredictability, discovered that the profound beauty of their connection lay not in grand gestures but in the exquisite simplicity of shared moments—moments that, like fragile fragments of glass, caught the light even in the darkest of times.

“I’m not even asking for anything even now…maybe I’m stupid and gullible, but” My emotions peak high, blurring all I see and wringing my neck as I struggle to purge the rest of my words with a violent shake of my being. “I can’t stop this part of my fragile heart that constantly yearns for acceptance…which constantly yearns for my family’s love”

It was trust — fragile, beautiful, growing stronger with each word. At some point, the conversation shifted to lighter things. Travis cracked a joke about his disastrous attempt at cooking, and I laughed until my cheeks hurt. “See?” he said, grinning, “I’m not perfect.” “Neither am I,” I admitted, smiling back. “But maybe perfect isn’t what we need.” He nodded, eyes shining. “Exactly.” Later, as I rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, I realized something profound: love wasn’t about grand gestures or flawless moments. It was about the quiet, imperfect ones — the late-night talks, the shared silences, the knowing glances.

I sighed in relief and leaned back. After a silence, she looked at me seriously and said, "Reasons don't matter now. She is your wife. Please take care of her. I understand you can't give her love but please don't give her hate too. " She then continued, "She is fragile, please never break her." I looked at her for a second and closed my eyes again as I felt bad. I can't guarantee that, to stop her loving me, I have to do it, if I must..

He knew that she had. Her reply was instant. “Yes, Daddy. But the man that I fall in love with will be strong enough to survive when I no longer will. He will be prepared. And he will love me all the more because he will understand what a fragile thing life is, and that every moment might be our last. And whenever we fight, he will call me up immediately and say, ‘I’m so sorry, love, because I don’t want those hateful things to be the last words that you ever hear from me. I love you, I love you, I love you.’ Don’t you think this will be the case?”

We continue like this on some Jean Paul's solos, until we are cooled down with an old slider from the topper Mario. That is when I feel pleasant arms around me, my head is tenderly pressed against a soft chest. His perfume is expensive, flatters my senses and without looking up at him I move to the rhythm of the song. 'Baby let me love you now'. Hmmmm, that's all I want, so I snuggle closer into this warm, promising chest of a strong man. I keep my eyes closed, I let him take me to a romantic island where he and I are the only ones on a beach and the wind blows wonderfully around our bodies that are glued together.

He held Zoey in his arms like she was the last fragile thing in the world. "I don't love her anymore," he said, voice shaking. "Just... please, save her. Please... Tell me how to make her live." Dr. Willow had sighed then. "Sometimes... hate lasts longer than love." And so, the two of them spent the next ten years locked in this endless war of love and hate. Ten years of cutting each other open, over and over. Dr. Willow let out another breath, heavier this time. His feet carried him back to the wedding hall... and the moment he stepped inside, something cold, heavy, and suffocating wrapped around him.