Romantic Dream Short Story Novels & Stories

I don't dream, my favorite is there, next to me, in my bed. Free we are and we are together. Isn't this the best thing in the world? Have by your side a man who looks at you as if no one else exists, touches you as if he wanted to convince you that you really exist in reality, utters promises and oaths to you eternal love… and finally, a man who would sacrifice himself for you. Our happiness is only doubled by the fact that we will become a really small family for just over seven months. We are a real family from the first days, although in our case everything turned out so comical, but again romantic… we survived various blows, it all just made us stronger. It's not Blake now calmer than ev

Her eyes widened, and she fell to her knees before him, although it was clear that she was far older than he. "Beta," she began, rather meekly, "I am sorry for losing my temper in your presence. She said some..some disrespectful things and I couldn't...I couldn't take it. " Her voice shook with emotion, like she was about to break down into tears. To my surprise, he ran his fingers through her dreadlocks, soothing her tenderly, and she rubbed against his legs, seeking his comfort. It was almost a sweet scene, like the one between a mother wolf and a pup. It is okay, Desdemona. I will handle the proud princess myself. From now onwards, Princess Miatta is my responsibility.

She beamed at me from across the room, her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm. I took a deep breath, rolling my eyes at the sudden festivity. Valentine’s Day, a day to be reminded that romance could be a fairy tale for others but a tired story for me. The dream’s ghost whispered at the back of my mind, and I shoved it aside with a sigh. Emma pointed at the poster plastered near the bulletin board. It featured two clocks perfectly synchronized, below the tagline: The Perfect Lover. "Isn't it romantic?" Emma gushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “If I could, I wish... well, maybe someday I’ll find someone like that.” She looked wistful, as if picturing a romance pulled straight from the movi

She hoarded the dreams privately, examining them in the mornings before she was fully awake, not ready to say them out loud because saying them out loud made them real in a way that felt simultaneously wonderful and terrifying. Dante told her first. One grey November morning, half asleep, face in the pillow, he said into the mattress — "I dreamed about a little girl last night. She had your stubborn mouth and she was running toward the river and I was trying to catch her and you kept telling me she was fine." Danielle went very still. "Was she?" she said carefully. "Fine?" "She made the ridge," he said. "She was incredibly fast." "Dante." "Mm." "I've been having dreams like that."

The entire night was filled with surreal and fragmented dreams—none of them forming a coherent story. In one of the dreams, Miranda cradled a chubby, smiling baby in her arms. Behind her stood a tall, gentle man, softly encircling her waist, quietly reminding her to watch her step. But when she turned to look at him, he vanished. All that remained was an endless field of wild grass, stretching as far as her eyes could see. No trace of the man, no one to turn to.

“Baby, you are the dream I never want to wake from, and the story I never want to end.” She giggled, her laughter like music. “Alright, you’re more of a writer than I am. You’re such a hopeless romantic.” Her eyes sparkled as she blinked and pointed at the lamp beside me. “I want you, tomorrow.” “Sure, I love you,” I replied, pulling her closer. Falling asleep with her in my arms felt like living in a dream I never wanted to escape. She was my everything—my reality and my fantasy. Her heartbeat, so close to mine, reminded me that even when I woke, she’d still be there, a constant presence in my life.

“You’re changing me. Dangerous.” “No,” she said gently, “just… softening the edges.” A beat of silence stretched between them. “I dreamt about you,” he said. Her breath caught. “What kind of dream?” “The kind I wouldn’t be allowed to say out loud in polite company.” He leaned closer, brushing his lips against hers in a lazy, tender kiss. “You were laughing. Wearing a white dress. And there were flowers everywhere.” “Sounds like a wedding,” she teased. He froze slightly, then covered it up with a half-smile. “Maybe my subconscious is more romantic than I thought.”

The soft rustle of the sheets was a lullaby that carried her towards the realm of dreams, where stories unfolded like petals blooming in the sun. With a heart full of love and dreams, Mama Hazel closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting towards the promise of tomorrow. The night was a canvas upon which new adventures awaited, new characters beckoned, and new tales whispered their secrets in the shadows. In the realm of dreams, Mama Hazel found herself in a world where stories danced and imaginations ran wild. Together with Theo, she embarked on a journey through landscapes of wonder and realms of enchantment, their hearts intertwined in a symphony of love, creativity, and shared dreams.

By the time Jake was done narrating the ordeal, my whole face was red and my heart was drumming ferociously in its cage. Truth is, the dream was about Jake and me. Jake was Cephaus Demario and I was Cleopatra. Both of the characters from my favourite romance novel ‘Chained lusts’. In the dream, Jake and I were getting intimate. I have been having such dreams ever since the night that he and I kissed. I never expected that I would blurt my dream in my sleep. I wonder what he thinks of me now. Oh no, what if he thinks that I am a pervert whose only intention is to get in his pants? I have to do something before he starts doubting my intentions.

"I dream of a life filled with adventure, of exploring the world hand in hand with you. Writing novels that capture the essence of our journey." Zara smiled, her eyes reflecting the dreams he wove. "I want to create a home where love is the foundation, a sanctuary where our story continues to unfold." The conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving dreams and aspirations into the fabric of their shared future. They spoke of places they longed to visit, books they yearned to write, and the simple joys that would define their everyday existence. The sun climbed higher, casting a warm glow on their entwined forms, a visual ode to their newfound intimacy.