Waiting On Him Quotes Novels & Stories

"And this is my path to redemption." I narrow my eyes, seeking clarity in his cryptic statement. "What do you mean?" I inquire, my curiosity piqued. He laughs softly, his eyes shining with a sense of purpose. "It's nothing to worry about," he reassures me. " Don’t worry about me. Just know that I am a patient man. I have made a choice to wait for you, to be there for you, until the very end." He laughs. "It’s nothing… Don’t worry about me. I am a very persuasive man. Since I decided to wait for you to accept me, I will wait until I take the last breath." He points at my plate and says, "Eat fast."

she whispered, “what if I never feel ready?” He smiled faintly, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “Then I’ll wait forever.” Her heart cracked open at the words, at the certainty in them. He wasn’t asking her to leap before she was ready. He was promising her that when she did, he would still be there, steady as stone, waiting with open hands. Dawn crept slowly across the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of pink and gray. They sat together on the couch, curled beneath a single blanket, neither eager to break the quiet.

If I let it go on any longer and it all crashed… “I think I need some space. I need to think for a moment. Just a moment. I need to know what I want and what I am willing to risk and lose and let go of. I need to find me first.” He stilled as the weight of my words hit him. I expected him to protest and I knew he contemplated it by the rough rise and fall of his chest but when he spoke, his voice was gravelly. “I will give you time, I owe you that. But I hope when you find yourself, you will see me waiting for you. And I will be, right here, waiting. Until you are ready. Do you understand? I am waiting.” He held my face as he spoke and waited until I nodded. “I need you to say it. Say you un

The clock ticks somewhere in the background. Slow. Time feels still. And I sit there. Waiting. Hoping. Praying even, that’s something I haven’t done in a long time. Just please. Let him be okay. No answers come. No updates. Just silence.

Another silence. Then: "Maya. Whatever you're going through, I'm here." "I know." "But I can't help if you won't talk to me." "I know." "Then talk." She wanted to. God, she wanted to. But the words wouldn't come. "Not yet," she whispered. "Soon. I promise." He sighed. "Okay. Soon." That night, another message. He's not the only one waiting. But he's the only one who matters. Maya stared at it for hours.

Effort without evidence. Faith asks you to keep lifting anyway. One night, as rain taps softly against the windows, I finally say the thought that’s been haunting me. “What if waiting changes us?” He looks at me steadily. “It will,” he says. “Everything does.” I swallow. “What if it changes us in ways we don’t like?” He reaches for my hand. “Then we face that too. Together. But I don’t think waiting changes who you are—I think it reveals it.”

Something closer to the feeling of being accurately understood by someone who had paid enough attention to deserve the understanding. I looked at my text for a moment. At the margin notes I hadn't added in the past hour. "Stop looking at me like that," I said, without looking up. A beat. "Like what," he said. "Like you're waiting for something." "I am patient," he said. "I noticed." I looked up. Held his gaze. "What are you waiting for." He looked at me with the direct, unmanaged attention. "For you to finish deciding." "Deciding what."

I pursed my lips together suppressing my whimpers, of cry, of pain. He stood on the door, for minutes that felt like hours, he didn’t move. He’s waiting, he’s waiting for someone who isn’t even there. I heard him sigh. His foot pointed towards me; I suppressed another gasp as I saw him approaching me. “I’ll wait, if that’s what you want…” He lets out the words I don’t want to listen. “Fuck, I'm growing out of patience…” another sigh finding a way out of his mouth.

It was something less certain than that, something more present. "You do not have to do this alone," he said, and then stopped himself, and I recognized the stopping, the recognition that he had said a version of that before and I had pushed back against it, and this time he was not pushing forward with it. He was offering it and waiting. I turned back to the room. The space at the center was open, the people around its perimeter watching with the specific quality of people who have been waiting for something and have just received the signal that it is beginning.

He heard her pained gasps. His dear Hana wanted him so much. Her walls squeezed him. He closed his eyes and groaned. “My dear Hana, how much must I wait?” He questioned her as he thrust deeper into her. “Wake up and be with me.” The sun couldn’t shine forever. She would come to him someday. He would wait patiently. ***