When We Were Strangers Book Novels & Stories

I mean, I was an amateur writer and I was just writing crap. Sweet Stranger is a book I wrote based on my real life love-tale. It dives into the life of a young woman, Carly, who fell insanely inlove for a sweet stranger, Ramsey, who turned out to be the enemy that murdered her father. Though the book receives a lot of backlash, I must say it is one of the books that has gotten mind-blowing recognition and gotten millions of reads on GoodNovel. I never expected that honestly. I hear a loud knock on the door.

Strangers With Benefits . Written by Pink-Butterfly . Episode 35: Who tops ? . Nathan was pretty much fuming as he stomped up the stairs to his house to slam the door open, kicking his shoes off and throwing his bag on the floor next to them. His furrowed eyebrows twitched when he noticed an unfamiliar pair of shoes next to his mother's. If his mood had been rotten before, this sudden stranger's visit was certainly not helping. The smell of lamb skewers though, did.

Mia scurried away as Sofia inched closer to him. “I want to know what it’s truly about” He whispered. “It’s about us. It’s about the story of us” Sofia whispered and her eyes dropped to the stand right behind him, across the lasciviously beautiful book cover and the name across it—A Deal With Mr Baron. Truly, this book was about their story. About two people so different that they could swear they weren’t for each other but fate has a real funny way of laughing in our faces. Even after so long, even after so much had changed.

They even met the way we met. What the hell!! The author had uploaded around ten chapters of the book. It looked as if it was written keeping us in mind. Wow!! It was interesting... But how?? Was it some kind of rare coincidence? I slept off thinking about her. ****** It was morning, my doorbell chimed. I dragged myself out of my bed and opened the door. The moment the door was opened, the aroma of freshly cooked stuffed Parantha hit my olfactory senses. " Umm wow!!! I was going to get annoyed at you for making me get up so early. But this aroma is making me crazy. Parantha?? " I asked.

We had to help them out but when we were about leaving they requested that they go with us as they had no where to go to. Looking at Lisa ,I could read her mind. She must have been wondering why I suddenly didn't care about being careful when it came to letting strangers into our lives. I had been the type that seals my borders. I wasn't too social or entertaining and so it was hard to let people into my life. Lisa looked at me and I could tell she was having it at all.

She was slightly confused when he suddenly froze in place and locked his eyes on her. Could it be that her smile was that creepy? She winced at the thought before hearing him chortle out of the blue. "Because we're strangers," he said, making her head tilt to the side. "We're strangers with no connection; no relation; no history-we have nothing and got nothing to do with each other," he gave her a quick smile before gazing back at the sunset. "There are things we can't tell the people we care for because we don't want them to worry. We don't want to be a burden. And that's the reason why opening up to a stranger is sometimes easier-you can just spit out everything you wanted to say without f

the stranger said. “Was,” I corrected him. “What do you mean?” the stranger asked. Telling him all I know, the stranger just listens. Once I was done explaining. We stood quietly for a while. Finally, he opened the book and started going through it. No expressions were shown on his face. “Do you have a name?” the stranger asked after a while. “There is one. Before I tell you, at first, there was only one initial. It’s at the end of that book. If you like, you may look at it.” I said.

“I know something is off. That’s not Laurel upstairs. Her mannerisms are all wrong. Her habits. Her eyes. The handwriting style on Morel's school note last week did not resemble Laurel's handwriting. I squeezed the stair railing harder while my blood turned to ice. Dr. Shawty urged me to lower my voice while scanning the area quickly. You may be correct but you shouldn’t accuse people like that. It’s more complicated than you think.” My legs trembled. He was going to tell her. He was about to expose me! “Complicated?” Lillian scoffed. “My son’s been living with a stranger! My grandson addresses a woman as ‘Mommy’ whom he just met and who remains unaware of his bedtime schedule. I couldn’t li

I said. “Where? Should I drive you?” he asked. I snapped my head at him. “Why? You're bored and looking for a plaything to pass the time with?” I asked harshly. His brows creased. “What?” “Listen, Aaron, you don't like me, I get it, stop confusing me. One minute you're nice, the next minute you're shouting at me. Sometimes you make me feel like we are buddies and other times, you remind me that we are nothing but strangers to each other”

— One day, a stranger arrived. Not from the gate. From the silence between it. They carried no belongings, only a weariness that felt like they had wandered far from themselves and didn’t know how to come home. I offered them no answers. Just space. Just the book. Just a canvas. They sat beneath the tree, knees drawn up, watching the others. And then, after some time, they picked up a brush. Their first stroke trembled. Then steadied. Then bloomed. They wept.