Novel & Cerita My Memoir

he ordered while holding my head lightly as I stayed inside his arms. I was trying to calm myself. My memories kept on bugging me, they're inside my head messing me up. It's suffocating me, I couldn't breathe. I was trying to fight it but it's hunting me. Tears were starting to form in my eyes and the flashback before my eyes started as I hear the cry and sob of my mother along with the loud gunshot that killed my father. "Hey, hey. Samantha, I'm here. Calm down, I'm here. You are safe."

However person I was before I lost my memory, I wanted to be better. Sadly, I never wrote a diary back when I had my memory. I guess I was a boring person. I looked at the dates with the different pages I had managed to write. First time I saw Asher. First time I had a flashback. First time I had good terms with Tristan. First time I got caught in fire. First time Asher hugged me. First time I heard Asher's voice on my phone. That was it for now. I wonder how many more am I going to write. Whatever it was, I needed to make sure I had something. Some anchor to not lose it completely.

Even though you are a not a human anymore but a ghost when we found each other, but you are the one that could fill my heart. Once again. Thank you Kevin. I wrote this letter for you... and myself. So that I can read it again and again. So that I can remember you. I also wrote a book about us. How we met each other, your story, mine, ours…. I can imagine your laugh when I tell you that I wrote a book. But let me tell you. It’s a hit, you know? Hehe… Another reason was, because my memories seemed to vanish little by little.

Her mind paved the way for different thoughts that made her feel she was a bad person. She closed her eyes and took in a deep, long breath. She released the breath and opened her eyes, motivating herself. “Everything is fine,” She remembered Malachi’s words, and a smile found its way to display on her face. “I am a good person. My smile glitters people’s lives. I should continue to be generous…” She cracked up and suddenly burst into a laughter that lasted for a minute. After she stopped laughing, she wondered what was wrong that would warrant such laughter, but she couldn’t give herself an answer.

The familiar scent of vanilla mixed with cinnamon hit my nostrils as I moved towards her bed while taking in her room. The last time I was here, I was so busy indulging in whatnot that I couldn't take it all in but now it is different. The room was extremely neat just as i expected it to be. “A diary” I muttered examining the book I picked up from her bed, lying open with a pen beside it. My brows deepened in thoughts as i read her entry for today, 20th May 2020 “Dear diary, all I want to talk about is HIM, I simply cannot get him off my head,he is all I think of every now and then, what am I supposed to do?....” I read softly aloud.

She used to laugh at the idea, said it was pointless, that memories were better lived than written. I pick it up slowly, then move to the bed. My fingers tremble as I sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight, the notebook resting heavy in my hands. I shouldn’t read this, I know that, but curiosity claws at me. The first page isn’t dated. The ink is uneven, and the pressure is inconsistent. [The pain is unbearable, and sometimes it gets so bad it overshadows everything else in my life. Every moment. Every dream. Every memory.

Of her. She flipped through pages drawn in charcoal—some with shaking hands, some with precision. One page showed a girl surrounded by flame. Her eyes were glowing. Her silhouette, familiar. “What is this?” she asked. “It’s the record of the Fireborn,” he said. “There’s only ever one in a generation. Sometimes none. It skips centuries. But when the world begins to change—when things grow restless—that fire finds a home.” She closed the journal, her heart thudding. “Why me?”

That home was always here, but the world was open to us now. Before we left again, I finished compiling my writings into a complete manuscript. My memoir. The travelogue. The documentation of progressive pack culture across two continents. "What are you going to call it?" Maya asked. I thought about my journey. From rejection to leadership. From despair to purpose. From broken to whole. "After the Rejection, I Became His Luna," I said. "But that's just the first part. The second part is about everything that came after. After the power. After the victory. After the main story ended, but life continued."

" My mouth slowly curved into a faint smile. A single tear of blood slipped from the corner of my eye. In Claire's terrified cry, I lost consciousness. My mind drifted through pain and static. Then a white light opened somewhere deep inside my memory. It was ten years ago, a quiet afternoon in the woods behind the school.

Third-Person POV It hadn't even crossed Bridget's mind that she could have just bought something else. She was just too lazy to think of it. Sarah had to go back to work, and Bridget was politely asked to leave. It was still pouring outside, even harder than before, and it blurred Bridget's vision. She recalled the photos that she and Aiden had taken together in their graduation gowns that Aiden still used as his phone screen wallpaper. She suddenly remembered about the graduation gowns.