Unspoken Novels & Stories

It stops reacting entirely The void tears open soundlessly. And from beyond existence Something walks forward Not humanoid. Not monstrous. Undefined Every time I try to focus on it My mind slips away from understanding Like perception itself cannot hold its shape. Theodore grips his head immediately “Okay, I officially hate conceptual beings.” The Unmade Speaks Not through sound. Not through thought. Through cancellation “Return.” The word spreads across existence. And instantly The galaxies begin collapsing Not exploding. Unbecoming Stars fade backward into nothing. Light reverses. Creation itself starts undoing.

The day before our wedding, my fiancé, Damian Carter, suddenly said, “Postpone the wedding for a week. I have to leave on a business trip.” His cold expression reminded me of the message his assistant, Sophie Shaw, had sent me the night before. “Mr. Carter wants to take me on a trip around the world before he gets married. You don’t mind, do you?” I agreed to his request, then quietly canceled the wedding altogether. The next day, Damian and Sophie were locked in a passionate embrace beneath the Eiffel Tower. I went to the hospital alone and ended my pregnancy. On the third day, Damian and Sophie stood naked together before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Burj Khalifa. I told Dami

The figure tilted its head. “I was not speaking about you.” It turned toward the Unmaking. “I was speaking about it.” A low vibration rolled across the silver plain. The forgotten possibilities began retreating, their unfinished houses and silent fountains flickering in and out of sight. The Unmaking raised its head. “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SPEAK TO ME.” The figure smiled sadly. “And yet you recognize me.” “I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE.” “Then say it.” The Unmaking's body twisted. Faces appeared across its darkness—Veyr, the First Silence, and countless forgotten lives. Each face opened its mouth, but no sound emerged.

*I love you. The confession is right there, waiting and ready on the edge of my tongue, terrible, irresponsible, and painfully true all at once, and my chest tightens as my pulse kicks harder because for the first time in years, saying three simple words feels more frightening than any business deal I've ever faced, yet when Sandra reaches the door and I almost call her back, almost tell her everything, I let the moment pass and watch her leave instead. And the words remain exactly where they've been from the beginning. Unspoken.

It's been eight months in London. And I adjusted myself. I was no longer the old stuttering Anabia. Now I was ready to retort back anyone who ever tried to mess with me. The one thing I didn't learn yet was swearing..and Allah I don't wanna swear ever. Astagfirullah

I grin slyly at her and she chuckles nervously avoiding my eyes. "Will do." she smiles and my grin broadens. "Hmm. People will die from shock when they find out you do know how to talk… a lot...” Or how absolutely adorable you can be. On second thought, I’d like to be the only one. "They know I can talk. They just always seem to distort my words making me look insensitive… so I choose to stay silent." "I see." she really is a strong. Sensitive and thoughtful. "Yuzuki?"

I asked. "Yes, my love. I didn't forget either. I promise to tell you when the time is right. Today is definitely not the day for that to happen. I will tell you some other time. I promise." With each step, I embraced the realization that words were not always necessary to convey the depth of one's emotions. The unspoken connection we shared spoke volumes, a language understood only by our hearts. And so, for now, I chose to let the unspoken words linger, allowing them to bloom and flourish in their own time.

We opened the latch and there was a ladder leading to the ground. We entered the space and walked down the path, it was the only tunnel until we reached a huge space. There were five doors in a circular position. The first door read Silver Arsenal, and The second read, Bombs, personnel only. The third door read Project NTX3 Final Phase, the fourth door had no name, and the last door read. "DTX3 enhancer(wolf variation). I did not know what it meant, but none of those labels looked like good stuff.

The tension in the room hung heavily between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the uncharted territory they now found themselves in. "Okay," she finally said, her voice a mere whisper in the stillness. "I'm done. You should be good to go now." Her words, simple yet charged with an unspoken connection, hung in the air, inviting a response that could shift the dynamics of their encounter even further.

The air between us crackled with unspoken tension. He, seemingly unyielding, stopped shuffling through the books. Without looking at me, he delivered a response that carried the weight of his stubborn resolve, "Sounds like a you problem." The dismissive tone only fueled my determination, pushing me to delve deeper into the intricacies of our dynamic.