Word Unspoken Novels & Stories

(noun) – The feeling of internal presence too soft to demand attention, but too steady to ignore. A girl in the corner offered hers next. “When I want someone to understand me… but I don’t want to talk.” Eden looked at her gently. “Is it heavy?” “No. Just… loud.” The girl traced a swirl with her finger in the air. The unfiltered Eden wrote beneath it: swelow. (noun/verb) – The act of silently wishing someone would speak your feelings before you do. Word by word, the room filled with new names. New shapes.

And it’s growing. I saw it with the God of the Squeaky Floorboard. The little pest was whining about its tribute, a pathetic shimmer of power. The Unspoken just… looked at it. And I felt it, a tiny, psychic transaction. The Floorboard god went still, then puffed up, its squeak gaining a new, confident authority. In return, the Unspoken grew denser, more real. It had traded for a secret. The Floorboard’s hidden shame of being so insignificant. It’s a broker. A silent banker dealing in the currency of things unsaid.

The kiss had tied them together, but there was still a holy, unspoken tension in the air. The news had been announced, but the biggest truth was yet unspoken. When they parted, their foreheads still together, there went between them a shared, unspoken understanding. Something more had to be said. The vows they had printed out were in their pockets, neatly typed on heavy cardstock, but now they were redundant. The words to be spoken were not written down; they were etched into the very fabric of their common experience.

A silent understanding enveloped them, bridging the unspoken connection among those present. Her words, delivered with a blend of sincerity and compassion, revealed an awareness that surpassed the need for pretense. "We all know what's going through your head," she continued, her honesty creating a space for vulnerability. "It's going through ours too." In that moment, the air seemed to thicken with the unspoken solidarity, as if the collective concerns and hopes of the group intertwined.

I choose not to press further, realizing that some truths are meant to unfold in their own time, guided by the willingness of those who bear them. A new kind of understanding surfaces between us, one born out of the unspoken words and evaded truths. It's a subtle bond, acknowledging that some chapters of one's life are closed books, waiting for the right moment to be opened, read, and understood. The unspoken question lingers, but it doesn’t feel as heavy now. It’s more like an understanding between us, showing respect and a connection, rather than a big question needing an answer. It’s as if we both agree without words that some stuff doesn’t need talking about. The thing we don’t talk abou

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.

The throbbing in my dick hasn't seem to lessen, and I needed to leave fast. "I heard some crashing and I decided to hop in. Where's your dad?" "Work." She mumbled. "Okay, just take things easy so that you don't hurt yourself." I simply wanted to leave and wasn't interested in knowing what she wanted to do. I cleared my throat one last time announcing my departure. "I'll like to know how big that is." She said cutting me short. "What's that?" I scoffed, looking straight at her. She pointed towards my groin. I looked down to the outline of my arousal and surprise shook me. I was speechless, perhaps embarrassed that she was bold to catch my arousal.

I responded still not noticing the person I'm talking too. "My fiancé won't stop bugging me to set a date for our wedding and I'm still not sure I want to marry her and I found out she can't have kids because she did two damn abortion already" he said sounding stressful. "Can you believe she hid that from me?" He added "Oh I am sorry, lets drink our pain away..... No no no lets get out of here and do something together to erase the awful pain" I said this time staring in his direction. I was completely drunk but he look very handsome with a charming smile. He was sipping on a beer which seems like his forth one because three empty bottle on the counter In front of him.

His authority provided the legitimate, noisy cover. And Kunle, perched on the edge of a low leather sofa, was a world apart. His sleek, encrypted laptop was open, its screen a cascade of code and dark-web dashboard interfaces that looked alien to the opulent room. He wore a headset, murmuring in a mix of English and tech jargon to contacts whose names William and Mimi would never know. “The rhythm is simple,” Mimi had said, her voice leaving no room for debate. “Kunle finds the shadow. I cross-reference the light. William creates the storm they’ll hide in.” It was the first rule of their uneasy alliance.