Sapo From On My Block Mga Nobela at Kwento

~~~~~ Downtown Apartment ~~~~~ 3 am. Sophia groaned from the mosquitoes biting her body, her hands ran down her body in an attempt to get rid of the mosquitoes. After countless trials of getting rid of the mosquitoes, she sat up from the bed in anger and frustration. Her eyes drifted to Jade sleeping and snoring peacefully and her lips curved up in disgust, she rolled her eyes at him. He was the reason she was here in a downtown dump, if he hadn't been so angry and talked as he liked to his father then they would not have been in the situation.

Mango wanted to cry as she felt really unsettled deep down. Sophia became anxious when she saw Mango's reaction. "Don't cry! Mango, I'm really fine and it was just a choke." "However, Mango looked at her and asked as Sophia didn't answer her question straightforwardly, ""Auntie, be honest with me and tell me, did you already know about your body's condition?"""

“Then clearly, you’re a genius. Can I see it?” “Later! Mommy says breakfast first.” Sophia appeared then, wearing a faded T-shirt and jeans, her hair piled in a messy bun. She looked tired, but her eyes lit up just a little when she saw me. “You’re early.” She said… “Excited.” I admitted. She raised a brow. “About what?” “Getting beaten at a block tower building.” Her lips curved, not quite a smile, but close. “You’re in for a rough morning, then.”

Street by street. Thinking of where to sleep, what to do, where to go when A sleek white BMW rolled to a stop in front of me.The window dropped. “Need a ride?”My stomach flipped because I knew that voice.Before I could answer, another voice snapped. “How dare you ask this pig for a ride?!” The back door opened and Sophia stepped out… all makeup, lashes, and venom. She looked me up and down slowly, like I was filth on her shoe. “She looks like a pig,” Sophia sneered,

"Sophia, our brand has completely exploded across the web! Look at this real-time follower growth metric—our numbers are on the absolute verge of overtaking Chloe Bishop's data!" Sophia’s mood had been exceptionally bright, but the exact millisecond her assistant’s lips uttered that comparison, her features dropped into a freezing, venomous scowl. "I am a professional entertainment artist," Sophia hissed, her voice dripping with pure ice. "Your office chooses to baseline my value against a corporate manager? Does your intellect calculate that the humiliation my system has harvested lately is insufficient?"

** **Sophia: The caption is some next-level gaslighting bullshit. **Me: I’m aware.** **Sophia: You okay?** Am I? I don’t even know anymore. **Me: I’m fine. At work. Can’t think about this right now.** **Sophia: Okay. But I’m coming over tonight with wine and terrible movies.** **Me: Deal.** I pocket my phone. Try to focus on the campaign brief in front of me. Target demographics. Engagement metrics. Things that don’t involve my ex-boyfriend parading his new relationship like a trophy.

Sofia says her first word on a Tuesday. Not "Mama" — that would be too expected. Not "Dada" — also expected. She's sitting on the kitchen floor, surrounded by wooden blocks, when she picks up a red square and holds it toward Celeste. "Oak," she says. Celeste freezes. The dog has been gone for over a year. The grave under the fig tree has settled, covered in ivy and wildflowers. We don't talk about Oak the way we used to — not because we've forgotten, but because grief has softened into something closer to gratitude.