Tomorrow Will Be Better: A Novel Novels & Stories

Maybe tomorrow’s day will be the best one. ----- Author's Note Hey guys! Follow me on Instagram @lexi.priyanshi to find out about my new books. Stay connected :)

“None of them have the resources I do, and they certainly don’t have the insights. I’d prefer to keep this—quiet too.” “Then turn it over to the detectives, Andrew.” “We don’t know what ‘it’ is, darling, beyond that it seems to be slowly coming to an end as people keep dying.” “Is that your solution then?” “Please, don’t judge me harshly, Evelyn. I want answers as much as you do,” he said softly. “But not at the cost of the things that we have. The children are happy, maybe for the first time in their lives, and we have each other and an entirely different future expanding before us. The world of yesterday is in the past, and nothing that we do now will undo it. If I have to choose, I want t

Tomorrow Lucas Hart's world ends. Tomorrow justice begins. Tomorrow Rachel Hart can finally rest. And Elara can finally start living. Really living. Not just surviving. Not just plotting revenge. But actually building a life. A life with her son. With Kieran. With hope and love and a future. Tomorrow everything changes. And Elara is ready. She's fought for this. Died for this. Came back for this. Tomorrow she wins. Finally, completely, utterly. She wins. She falls asleep with that thought. With Kieran's arms around her. With hope in her heart.

Tomorrow, maybe, Secrets Between Us would no longer be a story of pain — but of survival, truth, and a love that refused to break no matter how hard it was tested. Evelyn smiled faintly, whispering to herself, “Tomorrow begins the rest of everything.”

I walk to my workstation and take my drawing pad. “Any plans for tomorrow?” She asks, sitting on the same spot I just sat on a while ago. I could not think of any. “The usual, maybe,” I answer, picking up the blue crayon to finish my drawing. My forehead furrows as I look at my blunt crayon, which rarely happens to be edgeless only for a few days. “Just buy a new one, Tara,” says Stella, who saw me staring at the piece of crayon. “You’re free tomorrow, so just buy a new one.”

Sign up Log in BackInfoAdd to libraryInfo Navigated to -Chapter 20- | The White Wolf | Quotev Something was wrong. My bed seemed different. Warmth encircled me and the welcoming scent of the ocean woke me from my slumber. I was in Justin's room. I looked over realizing we had both moved to the middle of the bed causing me to be a few inches away from him. Justin's hair was a mess sticking up every which way, though mine was probably worse.

It was a journey he never would have taken alone, but with Brandon by his side, he felt a renewed sense of strength and resilience. Because of Liam's unstable emotions, Brandon didn't let him cook for everyone, and he did the cooking because the gas stove left by the previous tenant still had contents. Liam also told them that three months before the end of the world happened, the tenants of their house moved. That was also one of the reasons why Liam took a part-time job. Because they can no longer support both Liam and Jarvis in their studies.

"I'll dig another chamber nearby, bigger than this one. We'll plant crops underground. With the sunlight we channel in and the water supply, the heat during the apocalypse will actually help things grow. We just need a month of food stored up until the crops start coming in." We divided up the work and got everything ready just in time. Tomorrow, the heatwave apocalypse would arrive. That night, I curled up on the big bed in the cellar, holding Blazewing close while waiting for the apocalypse to begin. When I woke up the next morning, I could already feel the difference. The cellar was warmer than yesterday, rising from damp and cold to a cozy, comfortable temperature. Blazewing stretched on

Callie woke up the next morning with her entire right side burning up, she had another weird dream. In the dream she had painted a pretty water fall and the blue paint travelled up her arms forming veins, she felt the same ice cold sensation she had felt the day before and the sensation didn't stop till after she had gone through her painting. The painting led her to the same waterfall she had painted and she felt it in her spirit that she wasn't in a human world.

This future had his face in it, and the garden, and burnt toast made together in a quiet kitchen, and all the unremarkable ordinary days that were, she now understood, the whole point. Tomorrow was not something to survive anymore. It was something to walk toward unhurried, unafraid, with her hand in his and the long, open, unwritten road of it ahead of them. Their first tomorrow had been beautiful. She was looking forward to the rest.