Rain And Petals Eavesdrop Novels & Stories

(Captain Polly Grokham) In the middle of them talking and bantering around, out of nowhere, suddenly all around the beaches and for as far as their eyes can see, a purplish pink cherry petals started to fall down from the sky, making the scenery of the bloody beach and the sea monster infested area, calm and beautiful, as if the bloody scene added the beauty to the falling flower petals, Polly held out her hand and let one of the petal touches her palm and showed the petal to High General Bina.

It was raining. She found herself staring at the sky outside of the glass. Raindrops were falling from the clouds in a rhythmic motion, beside this skyscraper building, the pink cherry blossom flowers were covered with water drops. She could see the amazing wet petals, slightly wishing they would be more closer so she could touch them "So beautiful," she whispered in her mind.

___ Elias’s POV The rain was relentless, pounding against the windshield like an unyielding force. I could barely see past the wipers, but the eerie glow of Gazelle’s isolated home stood out in the darkness. It had been years since I’d last seen her, and stepping back into her domain felt like walking into the unknown. I parked the car just outside the gate, inhaling deeply before stepping out. The rain drenched me instantly, soaking through my clothes as I made my way toward the house. The moment I reached the front porch, the door creaked open on its own.

Its rhythm was strange—the rain against the glass, soft yet unrelenting, like the heartbeat of a restless city mourning secrets it could never bury. Elena sat by the window in Damian’s mansion, her fingers tracing fogged lines on the cold pane, watching the garden drown beneath the downpour. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, low and brooding, echoing the storm that refused to quiet inside her.

Eva understood almost none of the words, not yet, but the rhythm was its own comfort. The outside world existed only in fragments. She would catch it in the faint buzz of Vivienne’s phone as new messages arrived, in the muffled drone of the television in the downstairs parlor, or in the occasional glimpse of the city skyline through the tall, narrow windows. The city lights always seemed impossibly far away, a glittering promise she couldn’t yet reach. It was during one of these evenings in Vivienne’s room, with the city glowing faintly through the curtains, that Eva realized she could hear the rain. Not just hear it — measure it.

The rain had recently ceased, enveloping the city in a moist silence. Drops trickled down the window of Ethan’s penthouse like sluggish tears, mirroring the light from streetlamps and the distant buzz of late-night traffic. Within, the quietness shared by Ethan and Leena was far from hollow—it pulsed with something fragile, something that was on the verge of spilling over.

The rain, which had been a steady, rhythmic drum against the penthouse glass, transformed into a biting, freezing drizzle here, turning the coal-dusted ground into a slick, treacherous slurry. Julian drove the armored SUV with a focused, silent intensity that felt more like a machine than a man. The vehicle’s headlights cut through the gloom, reflecting off the skeletons of abandoned train cars that loomed out of the fog like beached whales. Beside him, Elena sat with her tablet strapped to her forearm, her fingers dancing over the holographic interface, tracking the erratic, pulsing signal of Silas’s mobile relay.

However, she had had so many incidents involving men and boys, that she was convinced that Tim was the best she was going to get, so she settled. She heard a sound like a wind chime. She looked up to see the petals from a rose bush falling into the swimming pool. Petals were slowly falling off from the bush, journeying their way and dropping gently on the pool. She frowned. Was she seeing things again, or were they really glowing? Grace stood up and slowly walked towards the bush. Sure enough, each time a petal landed on the surface of the water, it made a sound like a spoon on glass – resonating through the garden. “I must be dreaming,” she whispered to herself and smiled. She reached out t

I duck my head to hide my grin behind the thin fall of my hair. If he notices my amusement, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he brushes a big hand over my hair. I still, letting him pet me. “Red,” he says. “What?” I never question dominants, but I can’t help it. His tone was deep and growly, with a touch of something more. Reverence. Or longing. He doesn’t explain the ‘red’ comment. Instead he says, “I watched you last night.”

The plane's engine roared, the sound rattling through the cabin. It crushed the tiny daisy blooming in my heart.