My Time Artinya Novels & Stories

sharp, intentional, designed to slice beneath the surface. "Well, work does take a big amount of my time, but it's what I love doing. I love creating things with strong, everlasting bones, leaving my mark. But I enjoy art, sports, traveling when time and work permit, doing work for needed foundations." Camila tilted her head slightly, the corners of her lips curving in what could have been either approval or amusement.

I painted the set up that I prepared. I was too focused that I forgot about the time. Well, I finished my art and Philip is still not here. I looked at the clock and it's already 11am. I looked at the foods on the table and they're already cold. "is he not coming?"

"I ordered your favorite soft pink wedding dress. After surgery, the designer will take your measurements. At our wedding, you'll be the most beautiful bride." I smiled and touched his face. This was my farewell. Tears streamed down my face, and a silent thought echoed. "Ethan, there won't be a wedding for us." As the doors to the operating theater closed, I kept my gaze fixed on the three people I loved most; I wanted to commit their faces to memory. Once these doors closed, I knew I would never see them again. As anesthesia dulled my senses, the world around me faded away. My death was declared at precisely 10:00 pm, as indicated by the wall clock.

“Let’s just say I am tired of hearing you guys argue about what you like or not all day. I don’t want to return to work on Monday. I want this weekend to last forever.” “Trust me, I feel you. Maddison on the other side doesn’t have to work for shit. How nice. No wonder she loves the summer.” “Come on, Clara. It’s not like you work too.” Maddison rolled her eyes. “But I do, I am a proud florist. It’s not much but I make an income.” “I make an income too. By tolerating my parents and their life of drama.” Maddison sighed. “Our parents all have drama written across their foreheads.”

"If you are sitting in my place right now, you'll see how beautiful the collage of things in the timeline." "You own time," Elena said. "We are limited." "Time has a limit as it has beginnings too," he replied. "The good and bad only add color like black and white in a portrait." "You know your art," Elena commented. "But it would not help us win the war." "What is it with you people and wars?" "What?" "Why are you so worried of winning?" he asked. "Don't you know that all meanings came from the realization that all things started with beginnings and there would be some end?"

“Your brothers would be so proud of you right now, Lori. Go show them why.” I soften at her words. Drawing in a shaky breath, I slowly rise from my seat. Whispers immediately spread through the crowd as heads turn and eyes follow me. My legs feel weak as I make my way toward the stage, but I keep walking. The host offers me the microphone with an encouraging smile. Taking another breath, I force myself to speak. “This painting is called Frozen Time.” The hall quiets instantly. “When people talk about time, they usually talk about how quickly it passes… how years slip away before we can hold onto them. “But for me, time stopped.”

"Six years since Emily walked into my motel and changed all our lives." "To six years," everyone echoed. "I am grateful for time," I said when it was my turn. "For learning that time is not just something we move through but something we shape. For understanding that how we spend time determines what persists." "That sounds like your next series," Alex observed. "That is my next series. Time. How we experience it. How we shape it. How it shapes us." December brought quiet work in the studio. Early explorations of time as subject matter. Not time as measurement but time as experience. As memory. As anticipation. As the medium in which we build what matters.

Zia Stephanie's POV I felt like time begun to lose its meaning. The passage of time felt like it was heavenly distorted where space time worked into different scale on the other dimension. What should only be a few minutes seemed like I had endured dew hours and what might feel like small width of time could be extensive.

She set her silver fork down against the porcelain plate with a quiet, deliberate click. Under the table, she felt Elena’s fingers gently wrap around her knee—a silent, protective anchor.Maya looked straight past the glittering candelabras, locking her eyes directly onto Julian’s icy blue gaze. "I don't see her as a relic, Julian," Maya said, her voice clear, steady, and vibrating with an artist's conviction. "And I don't look at time the way a textbook does. To a human, a century might feel like a monolith, but to an artist, time is measured in moments that matter."