Silent Sorrow Novels & Stories

Mom had taken me to a psychological examination for depression. When I filled out the questionnaire, I checked the option saying I felt down and hopeless nearly every day. She frowned and reached out to correct my choice. "How could you possibly feel down and hopeless? Aren't you happy with your life?" The furrow between her brows deepened when she noticed I described myself as having trouble establishing connections with other people. "You've been an outgoing child since you were young, don't you remember? Come on, you need to consider each statement more carefully." If she said so, I would not argue with her. Next, she reminded me that I had never experienced negative thoughts about

I’ve been here before… I could hear people talking behind me, I want to open my eyes but it feels so heavy. I am listening carefully but no words from them I could understand. I am trying hard to move, but why I can’t feel any nerve in me. Finally! I could recognize a clear voice. “Mr. Carter, can you hear me?” that is my assistant, Andrea. I try to open my eyes and though I am successful, I can’t see anything. There is a bright light flashing right before my eyes, the doctor (if I’m not mistaken) is speaking to me.

"You thought I was a fool?" She knew it was useless arguing him. "Why are you silent, couldn’t answer?"" "My silence means I am tired of fighting and there is nothing left to fight for, I am tired of explaining my feelings to you but now I don't have the energy to explain them, right now I am on a self healing process and I am trying to forget everything that I ever wanted from you, I have always adapted to the changes in my life and even now I'm going to adjust and I'm not complaining, I am just trying to move on gracefully with all my dignity, I will definitely return your money, sorry and thanks for everything.” with that she walked away tears clouding her vision, rubbing it with the back

Her appetite had returned, too, unless Albert was sitting at the table with her, then she was pushing her food around on the plate with a fork and just wanted the meal to end. One evening, about three months after the attack, Alissa was recovered to the point where she sat at her desk happily humming along to the music on the radio. She edited photos on her laptop because she loved taking pictures for her life. After a few hours of concentrated work, she went to sleep. She fell asleep pretty quickly and dreamed of becoming a great photographer one day. But suddenly she woke up, something caressed her leg. She knocked it away angrily and wanted to get up and turn on the light to see what it w

And the silence hurts worse than anything. End of story 3

(sukoon pov) As I step into the room, a heavy sadness descends upon me like a suffocating blanket. The air feels thick and stagnant, as if it holds the weight of unshed tears and lingering despair. The once vibrant colours of the surroundings have faded, drained of their life and vitality. Shadows dance in the dimly lit space, casting elongated figures that mirror the desolation within.

Sarin said again, softer now. Careful. “You need to sit down.” Nothing. No response. No movement. Kira’s breathing hitched. “I don’t like this,” she whispered. Neither did I. Not at all. Because grief, when it came out— It could be endured. It could be held. It could be shared. But this? This silence? This stillness? It felt like standing at the edge of something that could break beyond repair. “She should cry,” someone murmured. “She should react—”

Bubbles curls beside me, her heartbeat steady against my palm. Somewhere in the distance, I think I hear Silen singing again. It sounds low and mournful, but beautiful. A siren song meant for no one. It drifts through the walls like a promise. And for the first time in days, I sleep.

She would need everything Kaine had given her and more. The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating, as if the world itself held its breath. The ashes, gray and lifeless, shifted restlessly in the cold wind, swirling like memories lost to time. Somewhere deep beneath the cracked and shattered ground, an unsettling pulse throbbed rhythmically, a dark heartbeat echoing in the stillness. Mae's violet eyes narrowed, their striking hue reflecting a mix of determination and apprehension. At the same time, the heavy chains around her wrists tightened, biting into her skin as if responding to the tension in the air.

of his identity. "FORGET... THE... GRIEF," a trillion whispers echoed within him, sounding like dry leaves skimming over a grave. "THE... GRIEF... IS... FRICTION. FRICTION... IS... HEAT. HEAT... IS... DECAY. BECOME... THE... COOL... SILENCE. BECOME... THE... ARCHIVE."