Pure Pefection Novels & Stories

“Not because she’ll scrub floors, but because she must judge them.” So I polished silver. Dusted bookshelves. Made a bed so tight you could bounce a coin. Ironed silk until it gleamed. At one point, a vase slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor. I froze, waiting for rebuke. But she only said, “Perfection is not the absence of mistakes. It is the silence that follows them.” So I knelt. Gathered the shards. Made no sound. By evening, every part of me ached.

Someone had captioned it: “What happened to this? They were perfect.” Perfect. The word made my throat tighten. We were never perfect. We were careful. Composed. Beautiful, maybe—but beauty’s not the same as peace. People loved the idea of us because we gave them a fantasy. And for a while, I gave it to myself, too. I let myself believe that the curated version of our love was the truth. That if I ignored the silences, the secrets, the contract—it would somehow become real.

I added, and he looked at me confused. “We see many people in our life who are perfect and imperfect as per our list, we have in our mind about perfections and imperfections. Just because one person is the perfect doesn’t mean that he is perfect as a partner to any person too. So Raj is the perfect guy I can ever know which you too accept, but he is not perfect for me.” I said explaining everything. He nodded after a few minutes and said, “You need not resign and my asking you to do that is my stupidity.”

“You look perfect. Now, let's go" k

He began to speak again, his voice quieter now but still clear enough for everyone to hear. “I called this piece Perfection,” he said. “Not because the woman in it is flawless, but because she represents something perfect to me. Something rare. She’s strong, but gentle. She’s been through things, yet she still carries light. To me, she is perfection — not in the way the world defines it, but in the way she exists. She doesn’t have to try. She simply is.” I felt my eyes start to sting.

Nothing is permanent in this world, but one thing is for sure purest intention will always win. THE END

“It sounds perfect.” ~end~

"Thank you precious girl he's perfect, you're perfect." THE END

not the version I chose to be. “I don’t want perfect,” I said. The words came out stronger. I want real.” The space cracked. not fully. but enough. because that broke something. Something it couldn’t resolve. the perfect version of me paused. for the first time. because now it wasn’t complete. It wasn’t aligned. It wasn’t right. The white shifted. Violently. because now it was losing control. losing certainty. losing definition. “You choose instability,” it said. The voice sharper now. less certain.

It was done, and it was perfect. THE END