The Heartbreak Diary Novels & Stories

"It's been a month but I didn't know you were still so angry with me? Maybe you still love me until now." "Where did you get the thickness of your face, Kevyn? You should be ashamed of yourself, you are too airy to be out of place. Maybe I loved you back then because I still made you feel good back then, but now? Not anymore. I I'm really stupid because I loved someone like you and that's what I regretted. And since we broke up I realized that you're not a loss because you're worthless." I promised before going inside.

Tom asked without stopping his pace. "Andreas knows. And I need your support, Tom. You were the first person to help me before I even knew who I was," Andien said reasonably. "I can't believe you don't have a male friend to work with," Tom grumbled. "I don't know any other men. My first man was Kenan, but he broke my heart," Andien replied quietly. "Are you serious?" "I am serious." "Why do you want to break up with Kenan and get involved with me?" Tom asked, demanding Andien's honesty.

The diary, a vessel of memories, became a bridge that connected the present to a past brimming with hope, love, and the indomitable spirit of a woman who had left an indelible mark on their hearts. The room was cloaked in a poignant silence as Larry continued to turn the pages of Sophia's diary. Margaret, Sandra, and Abigail sat huddled together, their eyes fixed on the weathered parchment that held the remnants of Sophia's dreams. The air seemed to echo with the weight of unspoken emotions, the collective sorrow of dreams left unfulfilled.

The top-right corners of the pages keep crumbling into charcoal. I stare at the burnt diary. This is the diary of someone who must have gotten seriously hurt in that day’s blast, I think. Not many people survived the blast; I was one of the few who did. The diary is in bad shape. It doesn’t look as though the person to whom it belongs would have survived the blast. I open the first unburned page. There is no name. Just the initials—RD. ‘You’re late’, Shrey looks at me and says.

Tears started falling out of her eyes and she tore the package to get what was inside. Two diaries fell down from it and Sia's hysteric hands grabbed the first one. She remembered it. It was Lara's diary. Sniffling, Sia placed her hand on her mouth to stiffle her cries. Her heart was tearing apart. It was enough now. She was tired of losing people. She was so tired of it that she wanted to die herself.

She set it on the ottoman and opened the latch. The lock was broken. Her breath caught in her throat. “No. No, no—” she whispered. The box was empty. Her diary was gone. Her most intimate confessions, written in the rawest moments of pain and hope. Every twisted memory from Russia. Every wound Cynthia left on her skin and soul. Every moment of self-loathing, every hesitant word about Damian… even that one vivid entry—the night she gave herself to him, trembling, finally feeling safe. All of it. Gone.

If the ambulance had not arrived in time, I probably would have lost my life that day. During my recovery, Scarlett came to take care of me whenever she could. As time passed, feelings developed between us. However, the moment we announced our relationship, Scarlett's mother vehemently opposed it. That was when I learned that Scarlett was actually the heir to the Hayes Corporation, worth billions. I was just an ordinary office worker. We were not from the same world. I felt inferior at the time, thinking I was not good enough for Scarlett, but somehow Grandma had a connection with the Hayes family.

I'd count down the days until he might come over again, heart slamming against my ribs the second the doorbell rang. My old diaries were proof of how pathetic I was,pages filled with his name in bubble letters, surrounded by lopsided hearts and mortifying details: the color of his shirt that day, how his laugh made my stomach flip, the way he smelled when he walked past me in the hallway. I only tried to kill it when I got to college and the rumors started rolling in. Denver the heartbreaker. Denver the guy who could charm a girl out of her clothes in one night and ghost her by morning.

I was deciding. Chapter 25 POV: Lydia Hart I used to think heartbreak was loud. I imagined screaming matches, shattered glass, mascara streaked down my face as I sobbed into the arms of well-meaning friends. I thought pain announced itself, demanded attention, made itself impossible to ignore. I was wrong. Heartbreak is quiet. It sits with you at dawn when the city is still half-asleep and the world hasn’t yet decided whether it’s going to be kind. It breathes beside you like an unwanted companion. It doesn’t rush. It waits.