The Waiting Game Book Novels & Stories

I couldn't stop the small whimper that escaped my lips. "Patience," he said, stepping back again. "Good things come to those who wait, remember?" The smug bastard was playing games with me. He knew exactly what he was doing, building me up only to leave me hanging. And the worst part? It was working. Every denied touch and moment of anticipation made me want him more. I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab him by his perfectly tailored shirt and demand he finish what he started. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

The library was quiet, the afternoon sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows. Anna sat alone at the far corner, the mysterious book, The Reflection Game, spread open before her. Her finger traced the intricate designs on the yellowed pages, her heart pounding with both excitement and unease. The cryptic instructions whispered to her, their meaning elusive but tantalizingly close. She didn’t understand why she felt so drawn to the book, but she couldn’t let it go. It was as if the book had chosen her, as if it were calling her to uncover its secrets.

Sabi ko habang nakatingin sa waiter na nagtataka na ang mukha kung bakit ang tagal namin siyang pinagbuksan. Binuksan ni Mr. Willis ang maliit na parang pinto at kinuha mula sa waiter ang pagkain. Pagkatapos ay sinara niya ulit ang pinto. Nilapag niya ang pagkain sa mesa at umupo. Madilim ang mukha niya ng sundan ng tingin ang waiter na nagtatakang naglakad palayo. Bahagya akong natawa sa ekspresyon niya. "Let's eat." Deklara ko at kumuha ng kobyertos at nagsimula ng kumain.

There is one thing that they do in unison though, contributing to the economy of the city, and striving to provide for the living of each their own; maybe even for their families. . Standing beside those massive gates, I was playing the waiting game. How long was this wait supposed to be? And could I even get inside without Mrs. Catrin saying it was okay? She wasn't around, which added to the uncertainty. . About forty minutes ticked by, and with each passing minute, I felt more and more unsure. Should I make a call to confirm? Or maybe this was a patience test? Overthinking was just turning my stomach into knots. I kept glancing at my watch, then at those imposing gates, and back to my watc

“unlucky contestants…shelf two, book thirteen.” It sounded oddly like a personal note. My curiosity won out and I skimmed my fingers along the spines of the books until I chose one at random. I pulled out a medium-sized book, a deep shade of navy blue. Earthen twine was wrapped around the book, and there was a picture on the front. A middle-aged man with chocolate hair and dark eyes smiled up at me. The cover of the book read, “Arthur Zimmerman, Game 71.

Cloe looked at the paperback, at its plain cover, at the particular humbleness of something that had been made without expectation of being found, the way all the most important things in this story had been made. “She wrote it down,” Dave said softly. “She couldn’t explain it so she wrote it down. The same way Mabel wrote the journal. The same way Agnes wrote the letters.” He picked up the book carefully. “She was doing her version of what they did. Keeping the truth alive in whatever form she had available.” “She’s been waiting,” Sophia said. “She just didn’t know what she was waiting for.” “None of them ever do,” Dave said. “That’s the whole pattern. The waiting happens first. The underst

Third Person POV At the Smith Group's charity banquet, Jason held Susan's hand and stood under the spotlight, basking in flattery. Suddenly, the screen went black, and a statement appeared on a red background. It was a divorce notice—Charlotte's request to formally sever all ties, issued through her lawyer. Next, a clear ultrasound scan was shown, accompanied by an audio recording. "Take her blood. She's tough, so she won't die from donating some blood." Jason's cold voice echoed through the speakers to every corner of the banquet hall.

There was no love in his eyes, only mockery. It was as if he were waiting to see a good show, waiting to see how I wouldn’t leave even after knowing the child wasn’t his. I smiled, ignoring the milk in his hand, and turned back to my room to pack my things. Perhaps because I no longer had any expectations, my whole body felt much lighter. Instead, his hand froze midair, his body stiffening noticeably. - The door opened, and a woman walked in. She wore a pale yellow dress and moved with graceful elegance.

Uriah flipped through the medical records page by page. [Patient arrived at ER in shock.] [Patient was unable to contact family and had no companion post-operation.] [Surgery lasted three hours.] ... Uriah knew every word, yet reading them felt unbearably, excruciatingly difficult. He read through it several times, then finally dropped the thick file back where it had been, as if it had burned his hands. He mumbled, "This isn't real... It's not... There's no way it's real... Irina's lying to me. How could I not know something this serious…

“You need someone who will be there to share the weight, who will cheer you on throughout every single step.” I swallow hardly, feeling the bile rise up in my throat. “You’re rejecting me because I am single?” “Not rejecting. Just....waiting, find someone to stand beside you, Emma. The way that every great leader does.” Either way, rejection burns badly, however I can’t just wait for a partner. This game, the one I poured all my energy into, is supposed to launch in a few months, and I can’t put it on pause just because I am waiting for the right man to come sweep me off my feet.