Myself Stories Novels & Stories

Confusion crossed my face. “Stories?” She nodded. “I didn’t know you.” The simplicity of the answer hurt. “I couldn’t write about your life because I wasn’t part of it.” My throat tightened. “So I wrote about mine.” Silence settled between us. Heavy. Personal. “I told you about the first apartment I ever rented.” A small smile appeared. “I told you how terrible I was at cooking.” Another smile. Sadder this time. “I told you about the stray dog that followed me home and refused to leave.”

The blinking cursor on the empty screen taunted me, daring me to crumble. But something sparked inside me. For years, I had written stories about characters who found love, who lost it, who fought for it. But what about me? My story was bleeding through my veins, begging to be told. Not for pity, not for applause, but for healing. I placed my fingers on the keyboard and began to type. Title: I Choose Me. The words looked bold on the screen. Final. Unapologetic. This is not a love story nor is it a fairy tale. This is the story of a woman who learned that brokenness does not define her. A woman who stopped waiting for someone to pick her up and instead chose to stand on her own two feet.

I gulped nervously when she sat at the edge of the wide bed. "First of all, tell me everything about yourself." She urged in a commanding tone. I felt disappointed that she did not ask how I was feeling. Well...she has done enough, I guess. Telling my story to people close to me puts me in an uncomfortable position, not to mention people that I don't know from anywhere. My life is filled with sadness, and I am not ready to bore people. "I do not know anything about myself other than the fact that I am an orphan," I replied simply.

All he muttered about was to find Leah and bring her back. The woman waited on the shore every single day, saying that she was waiting for someone who would never return. Under my parents' care, I recovered slowly, and I began to lead a new life that belonged to me. After experiencing two lives, I knew more about how to love and cherish my family, and to love myself properly. I believed that after saying goodbye to the wrong person in time, I would be sure to embrace the right person one day.

Chapter 1 Death Does Become Us My name is Arabella Smith, and I sorta died today. Don’t surprise me with my luck. It’s just a shame it’s a day before my thirtieth birthday. They say only the good die young but I think thats a load of crap. why don’t we start back when my bad luck started, bout three weeks ago, when i caught my boyfriend of six years cheating. *three weeks ago*

I didn't even know that guy. He has Sanchi. I was about to reply back when a boy said to me, "Bhaiya, kya app pagal khane se aye ho?" (Have you come from mental institute?) I stared at the boy in confusion and said, "No, why?" "My mom says who talk to themselves are mad." "Don't you have any other work." I picked Sanchi phone and flew away from there. Now, small boys think I was mad. Huh. Kabir was right. I needed to stop my habit of talking to myself.

Part 1 Alot of people have different life tale, I have read many and never thought I will one day tell mine here for others to read. I have held back for so long and Just felt is time to let my pain out. I will start right from when it all began. I came from a loving home, my parents were awesome when it comes to caring for us. I'm the first child and have younger siblings. A sister Lucia and two brothers. My parents were young and love each other before getting married.

Hey guys. I've finally finished another story of mine🙈🙈😅 M so happy 💃💃💃... Wow. This is the longest story I've ever published 💯💯😅 I wasn't expecting it to be this long but it was worth it... Right? 😅 Damn, I be being so happy RN😂🙈 I can't believe I'm done with this baby.. lol... Who knows tho? There just might be a sequel 😅

“How are you with all of it? Genuinely. Not the diplomatic version.” I thought about it. “I’ve spent this week dismantling a story I believed about myself for forty-two years,” I said. “And finding that what’s underneath it is — simpler. Smaller, in a good way. Just a person rather than a product of a particular inheritance.” I paused. “It’s strange. And it’s better.”

"I don't think so. I just need you both to actually listen, all the way through, before either of you says anything." They exchanged a glance, that old twin language I'd grown so used to reading, and nodded in unison. "I spent five years," I began slowly, "building an entire identity around a single story. The girl who survived. The girl whose savior would someday come find her and make all of it make sense. I didn't realize how small that story actually was until I met both of you and watched it explode into something far bigger, far messier, and considerably more honest than anything I'd ever let myself imagine."