Silently Crying Novels & Stories

Her fingers trembled from the force she had poured into every strike. Her head slowly lowered. And then the tears came. One drop fell. Then another. Then several more. They streamed down her face like quiet rain, slipping from her chin without a sound. She did not sob. She did not make a single noise. If not for the steady flow of tears, no one would have known she was crying at all. Silent. Broken. “You’re the one who ruined me,” she whispered after a long moment, her voice trembling, fragile and hoarse.

Head bowed, I squeeze my eyes shut to try and stop my tears from falling as my body shakes with the need to let it out. I don’t know how long I sit there, as finally, a determined tear squeezes out between my eyelids and slides down the tip of my nose. I just manage to brush it away before it lands on my plate, and then swallowing, sniffing, concentrating on breathing, the urge to cry lessens. And that’s when I notice it. The silence around me. It’s the hardest thing in the world to lift my head. Not because Dayne is still holding my head down.

My hands were shaking uncontrollably as I pressed them to my knees, trying to ground myself in something, anything. I held my breath until my vision blurred, hoping the feeling would pass, that I could just ride it out, but the tears came anyway. Hot, relentless, and quiet. I didn’t sob. I didn’t make a sound. But my whole body trembled as I cried into the silence, tears soaking into the collar of my shirt while the walls stayed mercifully still around me.

When we were different. I tried to keep quiet, tried to cry without sound, without movement, without disturbing the man sleeping two feet away who used to wake up the second I was upset. But my breathing hitched. Just once. A small catch in my throat that I couldn't control. And then another. And then I wasn't crying silently anymore, I was crying the way you cry when you're trying not to but your body has decided it's happening anyway. Shoulders shaking, breath coming in these awful quiet gasps, hand pressed to my mouth to muffle the sounds.

I closed the door with my remaining strength and her anxious face was left there. As soon as I became alone inside where none of them could see me, my knees folded in one snap. I reached the cold floor and my tears that have been welling out began to drip down on my face. I wanted to scream my shattered heart but I didn't hear any noise from me. I cried in silence—and that's what hurts the most; crying in silence while sobbing and your chest is exploding with so much pain.

“You think someone put a hit on me?” Audrina’s face had been completely neutral since we got into the car. “I’m not allowed to have anything of my own. I’m just supposed to be theirs. They couldn’t even let me have this one, fucking, thing....” There were tears streaming down her face. Only she was crying without making a sound, not even a tremble. I wondered how long Audrina had practiced that. The ability to cry in silence. Worse, I wondered how often she had had to practice that so that no one could hear her.

The tears welled up in my eyes thinking that when I want to pray the most I can't even because of my monthly cycle. "Yaa Allah you can hear me at any time, any place, please bring ease to my soul please make, making a decision easier, Ya Rabb I can only count in you for my well being, YAA RABB HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SERVANT" by now my tears were flowing like a waterfall. Six years and still I'm not able to get over that stupid excuse for a human.

No agenda. She was quiet for a long time. Then she was crying. Not loudly. Maya never cried loudly. Silent tears, tracking sideways across her face onto the pillow, her expression barely changing, the face of someone who had learned to cry without performing it, which was its own kind of devastation to witness. I sat with it for ten seconds Then I picked up my phone, stood, and stepped quietly into the hallway.

I just leaned against the door, shut it behind me slowly, and slid down until I was sitting on the floor, my back pressed to the wood. And then I cried. Not loud, not dramatic — the worst kind. Silent crying. The kind where your whole body shakes but no sound comes out, where you cover your mouth with both hands like you’re trying to swallow a scream. I pressed my forehead to my knees, breathing through it, telling myself: > “Don’t break. Not here. Not again.” It wasn’t about humiliation. It wasn’t even about Damian, or his father, or those women watching me like hawks.

And my tears — the ones I’d been holding like a dam — spill freely, running warm down my face in silence. I don’t sob. I don’t scream. But the grief is there. —*