Your Narrator Real Name Novelas e Histórias

"Ah, I'm just asking for granted. Because your name is Meikha. I thought you were born in May. " “I was found in front of the orphanage in May. Therefore my name is Meikha. My orphanage mother gave the name Meikha. " "But what about your identity. You have a date of birth. " "Yes. I have. Even though it's not real. My lovely mother and I don't know exactly when I was born into the world. When I was a baby, I was found in a home. " "Okay, Meikha. I already know your name. Now I introduce myself my name is Jordan Lautner. "

He opened it slightly, poked his head outside, and looked left and right before entering back inside and closing the door behind him. "There's no one there." He responded and crossed his arms. "Fine, I'll tell you the truth. Let's start with my name." I said and received a frantic look from him. His eyebrows were furrowed at me and his eyes were squinting. I ignored his expression and I continued. "My real name is Elise Sinclair, that name should ring a bell. " "Elise Sinclair." He muttered my name and his fingers went to his chin. He thought about it for a while then suddenly snapped his fingers as he realized it.

I walked out of his arms and turned to face him. "I can't do this; please don't hate me." The smile on his face faded. His eyes bore into mine. He was about to speak, but instead closed his mouth and nodded. There was no hiding the hurt on his face. "It's not fair," I continued. "I have lied to you." He just stared at me. "I… I am not Anya. My real name is Kiana Hunter, and I have a mate." He folded his arms, yet his expression remained placid.

She looked… normal. She stopped typing and turned around. When I saw her face, my heart stopped. She looked exactly like me. Not a future version. Not a ghost version. She looked like the me I saw in the mirror every morning before the nightmare started. "You're late," the woman said. Her voice was calm, almost bored. "Who are you?" I asked, stepping back. I kept Elle behind me. "I'm the one who started all of this," she said. She pointed to the laptop screen. "I’m the writer. My name is Logan Frost. Well, that’s my pen name. My real name is Hazel Williams."

The above lines are deep,not that I understood them the first time I read them but now , When I have seen the story behind these lines with my own eyes I can say I finally did understood them. You must be thinking who I am ,well not the main lead of this story . Definitely no But a boring 5'4 , brown eyes black hair girl which is going to make you fall in love with. Well I am not an eye candy kind of a beauty but neither am I a cactus kind of ugly. I am just medicore...an average. I am Sophie your dearest The one who is going to be the narrator of this story. Your host,your crying shoulder,your cursing companion,your hugging best friend...well whatever you will like me to be.

I wanted answers and when given to me I would escape to God knows where. He sighed. "I see you are not in the mood for a casual talk. I don't blame you, given the fact of what you have endured so far." He stood up and walked up to the window behind the chair, putting his hands in his pockets. "My name is Nicholas Ramirez and you're currently in my house." "Do you work for Lex?" A small chuckle was heard in the room. "Lex whished he could work for me, although I would never work with such a low-life."

Ergo, he couldn’t find out who I was. Ergo, I had to leave before he tempted my name from me. Ergo—oh shit. He lifted his painted eyebrows. “You know who I am.” “Uh.” I gulped and hedged a step in reverse. I needed to get out of here. Like now. Like thirty seconds ago. “Yeah. You’re Nash,” I told him uneasily. “One of the CEOs of JFI, head of the Jackets department, son of entrepreneur Henry Nash.” After a nervous laugh, I waved a greeting even as I took another step backward. “Everyone knows who you are.” Clearing my throat, I started to turn away. “I should go.”

he said while smiling. “I see. Nice to meet you sir, but I am not the homeowner,” I told him, and he raised an eyebrow at my statement. “Oh really? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We are neighbours now. My name is Pedro Lassiter,” he introduced himself. I studied his face for a few seconds, and he seemed to be a fine young man. “You may call me, Bethany. Bethany Middleton,” I told him my real name for a change. “A Middleton? Hmmm by any chance, do you know anyone whose name is Roger Middleton?”

They say your life flashes before your eyes when death is imminent. That's not quite true. It's a perpetually fast stream of dreams, failures, and fucking what ifs. Or at least, that's how it was for me. People call me Mak but my real name is Madison Abigail Kinlock. I'm standing in an underground parking garage in downtown Phoenix with pepper spray pointing at a cheating douchebag. The temperature is over a hundred degrees, and sweat is dripping down my brow and into my eyes, causing them to burn. The douche, Harry Dandridge, seems to think his bat will one-up my pepper spray. He could be right.

He rakes his hands in his hair, his eyes refusing to make contact with mine. I feel my cheeks grinning from ear to ear as I say, "No need to be nervous; of course, I can help you. The names Tatianna by the way." Usually, I'm not the type to go by my real name, but he seems trustworthy for some reason. It doesn't seem like he even knows who I am. He must not follow the tabloids. With a grin on his face, and a gleam in his eye, he says, "Thank you, Tatianna, I appreciate this!"