Your Narrator Real Name Novels & Stories

I wasn't in the mood for this rubbish. She ignored my comment and continued, "I've come to give you a chance to go out there and withdraw your claim." That got me laughing. She was saying that I was impersonating myself? "Look sweetie," I said after laughing, "my name is Annabelle Siromani and that's it." "Why are you lying?" she asked. I raised my eyebrow for her to elaborate. Most people found it hard to believe my identity but this one went as far as calling me a liar.

“I have business there.” A guy opens the door for us, and I climb into the car with him, nerves still simmering just below the surface. The interior is dark, and as the door closes behind us, the silence is thick, oppressive. “Can I know your name?” I ask, almost hesitating. I need to know his real name—Jackson is what I’m going to call him in the book, but I need to separate reality from fiction. I can’t keep thinking of him as Jackson.

he said taking a pause and using it to my benefit I fired questions at him that sought more importance. “Well then who are you? Where did you come from? I need to know that before anything else,” I said, wondering about so many other questions about him that I worried my head was going to combust. “Hey shah, calm down I’ll tell you,” he said rubbing my arm in a soothing manner and almost instantly the tingling sensation helped me feel better. “I feel embarrassed to say this and I worry that you might be angry but my real name is Seffastian Darrow.”

Of my name, of my life, of what I am. She put down her glass, calmly. —Then tell me the truth. I got up. I needed to move, to put some distance, even if it burned to take my eyes off her. I walked a few steps, then turned around. — My name is not Matteo. —… — My real name is Santino. The silence that followed was total. Even the birds were silent. She said nothing, but I saw her lips part slightly. I continued, in a harsher, more naked voice.

he asked, his voice a low growl. My lips clicked together for a moment, a second of pure, silent panic. My real name, the name of the girl who died on a rainy night fourteen years ago, was a sacred thing. It was not for him. It was not for Malcovich. I responded so fast, a lie I had practiced a thousand times. The name was a key, a lock, a way to keep my real self safe. "Norah…. Handsome “ I said, my voice husky and low.

I asked. "It's you, I would give you a little bit of tip at your past. Your real name is Janice Heather. You an american." She smirks. Janice, I do not like the name!. "If what you are saying is true, then why can't I remember any of that time, that I was young and your enemy?."

But I'm saying the opposite. His expression was not happy. Even though it's blank, I know he's not happy because I can feel it. "Can...you tell me...your...real name?" he asked me sadly. My tears were on my side but I answered firmly, "My name is Alessia...Alessia Andromeda Condor." The firmness of my voice is full of pretension.

He said, adjusting his stance and coming back to an upright position. After a long pause I finally said, “Let’s start with who you are?” There were a lot of questions in my head but I had to force myself to calm down and go one step at a time. I needed information but at the same time I could not let them know I was not in control of my thoughts or they would take advantage of it. “My name is Diego, DIEGO GUSTAVO and I believe you already know that.” he said this with a high degree of pride. Pointing at the other man “Over there is my associate Nathaniel but you can call him Nate.”

My lips curled into a smile sharp enough to cut, even though my chest felt like it was caving in and my knees threatened to give way. They'd never see me like that. Not them. Not him. Not ever. I was Eilidh MacLeod. Not Ellie Mac, the sweet, watered down American version I'd been pretending to be. My real name tasted like fire on my tongue, and it was about time everyone remembered it. I waved at a few crew members as I passed, their eyes widening like they'd just witnessed a live episode of their favorite drama. Paparazzi were probably already sniffing around. Let them.

“What you did today… that was brave of you.” I blink, turning my head toward him. “Thank you for acknowledging that.” A small smirk plays on his lips. “I saw that brave Viola I used to know.” I smile a little. Silence stretches between us again. Then, after a long pause, Logan asks, “What you said to Cameron… about being a writer. Is that true?” My throat tightens. Nobody knows the truth. Nobody knows that I’m Shortstuff001, the anonymous author of Who Was I Before You?—one of the most popular web novels.