Two Steps Forward And Three Steps Back Novels & Stories

--- Ariana stepped forward again. --- But this time— --- She stopped halfway through the motion. --- The pressure surged. --- Too early. --- Too fast. --- Ariana completed the step. --- And the pressure overshot. --- For a brief moment— --- There was a gap. --- Small. --- But real. --- Ariana felt it instantly. --- Her movement became easier. --- Lighter. --- Less restricted. --- Just for a second. --- But that was enough. --- She smiled. --- “You’re overcorrecting,” she said.

In the way his breath slows. “Now move,” I say. “Slow steps. Feel the ground.” He steps forward. Then back. Then to the side. “Again,” I instruct. “Do not rush.” He moves. His balance wavers. “Stop,” I say. He freezes. “Your weight is too far forward,” I add. “Shift it back. Feel your heels.” He adjusts. “That is better,” I say. We continue like this. Small movements. Corrections. Words kept soft but firm.

Laughter high up in air, especially as several teams collapsed after just two steps forward. "Don't look at them," I said to Eliot. Taking his hand by my waist, holding him there. To assure him we weren't going to be as bad even if we've established now that practical physical sports like this were not his strong suit. "One step at a time," I lead us, taking a step forward. "one foot before the other." We moved again. Another step forward. Another step, another step, and another step. "That's it." I grinned, holding unto him. Feeling his back muscles gradually relax, not tensed like how we began. "Just slow and steady. Slow and steady. Slow...

Just as I stepped out of the yard, Casey caught up to me. He pulled a few crumpled bills out from his pocket. "Here's 300 dollars. It's enough for food and a place to stay for a few days. Just come home and apologize once you've calmed down. Everything will be fine." Three hundred dollars. For Janice, that probably wasn't even enough for an afternoon snack.

Each one feeling longer than the last. Then he took a step forward. Just one step. Slow. Measured. Deliberate. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to move. To run. To do something. I took a step backward, my breathing coming shallow and fast. He took another step forward. I backed up again. Then again. My eyes never leaving his face. My spine hit the wall. Nowhere left to go. But he kept coming anyway. Each step purposeful. Unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world. Like there was nowhere I could run that he wouldn't eventually find me.

Before I could ask them whether this is a lie or a dream or a joke, I realized that I moved back too far away from them. But I realized that when my foot slipped as the steps start from there, and I started falling backward...

BACK TO PRESENT Stella sighed. "How lustful my father is to even go after such an elderly woman whose as old his mother. How crazy my stepmother is of my father. How overprotective she is of him, yet she can't even caught him cheating on her. Fucking hell. The drama. Man, these people are sick! Cruel, wicked, sinful, and lustful.” She tilted her head into the door.

He hissed out of annoyance. "I..." The words died in my throat when I saw him take a step forward. I blinked before I took two steps backward. For each step he took, I took twice of it back to get away from him. I knew I was defeated when moments later, there was a triumphant glint in his eyes. The next backward step I took after that made me collide with the end of the wall. I grunted when I saw him advance toward me with more confidence. I tried to make a beeline for the stairs but a hand stretched forth and held me back in place forcefully.

Third Person ❤️ It had been two weeks since Alex and Nicole had officially become boyfriend and girlfriend, and life had never felt more exciting for the both of them. Every morning, they would meet up before school, sharing small, intimate moments that were filled with whispered promises and soft kisses. After school, they would spend their afternoons together, either catching up on their individual projects or sneaking in moments just for them. By night, they were inseparable, talking until the early hours, sharing every detail of their lives with each other. On weekends, they would retreat into their own little world, away from everyone else, just the two of them.

He looks back and see me strolling towards him. The knife is pushed out of his back, the pain suffocating him that he takes a minute to breath from the way his shoulders go up in movement. Purposely stepping on a branch, he turns to find me walking towards him, he springs up and run into another direction. Turning backwards I pick up my pace jumping through a tree stuck in my path, the path he took was a fork in the road, three paths led to each other and winds up in a straight road ahead.