The People We Keep Novels & Stories

He looked at the stage and saw that they were about to start. He felt someone passed by behind him, and his smell made his head turn. Not because the perfume he used is unique, but because he still remembers that smell even though two years have passed. ------------ When Kit turns his head to see who was the man that walked behind him, he froze. He can still remember that long jet black hair that he always put up into a bun. Kit's whole body turned cold when he saw the man turned to the audience smiled. He's got some new tattoos, but Kit can still see the tattoo he had in Pagudpud. It was a Mandala design at the back of his right arm.

We keep talking—childhood stories, embarrassing moments, things we believed as kids that we know now are ridiculous. At some point the conversation shifts deeper and Jeremy asks, “What’s one thing you’ve never told anyone?”

How to ensure no story depended on only one person remembering. The Keeper looked toward the sleeping city. The city beyond the river. Filled with ordinary people. Dreamers who did not know they were Dreamers. People who shared stories every day. People who carried memories for one another. People who kept the dead alive through remembrance. The Keeper's silver eyes brightened. The answer was always there. Ama followed its gaze. Toward the city. Toward humanity. Toward countless lives intertwined. “Not one Dreamer.” The Keeper nodded.

Matteo had insisted I get a cane to assist me in walking, without totally relying on anyone. I took in a deep breath, inhaling the ocean, salty air. "Where are we?" I asked. "The promenade. Santa Monica." One of the guards said. Romero, maybe. I was still learning their voices. I smiled. I and Janine had made plans for after college. Plans that included us backpacking and exploring the world. Los Angeles was supposed to be our last stop before heading to Europe. I sighed, letting the breeze blow my hair into my face. Those moments from my past had always seemed so hopeful. I was full of life and so much spark, and now….

One drunk night with my best friend's brother, Eddie Sutton, and I became his secret girlfriend. Eight years later, my family finally snapped. They gave me a deadline and lined up a guy for me to marry. "Eddie, my family gave me a deadline. I have to get married this year." He went quiet, then kissed my forehead. Same old answer. "Just wait a little longer." Not long after, I found a post from his intern, Gina Yapp. The photo was of her and Eddie's marriage license. Caption: [CEO secured.] What I couldn't get in eight years, she got in three months. I swallowed the bitterness and hit Like. Then I commented: [Congrats. Wishing you both a happy life.] After that, I accepted the w

Robert Blackwell promised to marry me, then postponed it thirty-eight times. The fifth time, a car crash broke eight of his ribs, and I signed seven critical-condition notices. The tenth time, on the way to get our marriage license, he and the car were thrown into the sea, and his suit was torn apart by sharks. By the thirty-eighth time, his heart disease had worsened and his life was hanging by a thread. Eight months pregnant, I changed flights three times and flew twenty-three hours across half the world to find him. When the door opened, a little boy who looked exactly like him lifted his face and said, "I thought Mom was back." Robert rushed out barefoot, panic written all over his

The people hold one another. And all of it continues exactly the way it should. Not through grand gestures. Not through extraordinary moments. But through ordinary ones. The kind that matter most. Day after day. The right amount. All of it.

You know I always keep my word. — D

"I need you to know that I adore you, Didi. I care about you more than anyone, and I’d never do anything to hurt you." "I know," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I care about you too, Kaivan. But… what are you talking about?" He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to go on. "We’re not like other people, Didi. We’re… different. Special. But also… dangerous, as some would say." My heart pounded in my chest. "Different how?" He swallowed, his gaze steady on mine. "We’re werewolves, Didi. Kaycen and I… we’re both werewolves."

“Our story?” “Yes." I leaned forward and put my arms on the table. "Everything we've been through." There was a long silence between us. He looked down at the clean black letters again and then back at me. His fingers tapped lightly on the table, a nervous habit he hadn’t let go of. “Why?” he asked finally. “Why us?” “Maybe,” I said, forcing my voice steady, “because people like us don’t often get to speak. They think we could become voice to other people like us. To people who are still afraid who they are. To men and women trapped in families like ours.”