Whisper In A Moonlit Night

The Pretenders

Arabella was a striking young woman, her beauty not just in her outward appearance but in the quiet grace she carried within her. Her long, midnight-black hair cascaded in soft waves down her back, a stark contrast against her porcelain skin. The way her dark locks caught the light made it seem as though the night itself was woven into her braids. Everyone called her Bella, a name that felt simpler, softer, as if even her name had to reflect the quiet serenity that seemed to surround her.

She wasn’t the kind of person who drew attention with loud laughter or flashy clothes; instead, it was her calm presence that turned heads. There was something about the way she moved through the world—measured, deliberate, as if she was always in tune with the rhythm of the universe. Her soft brown eyes, often cast downward in thought, held a depth of emotion that few ever got close enough to understand. When Bella spoke, which wasn’t often, her voice was like a gentle breeze—soothing, never hurried, and filled with unspoken understanding.

Her life wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t filled with despair either. She had come to accept that it fell somewhere in between—a delicate balance of joys and sorrows, as life often is. There were days when the weight of the world seemed to press a little harder on her shoulders, but those moments were balanced by the warmth of her sweet family. They weren’t rich or without their troubles, but there was love in their small home—a kind of love that filled the cracks in the foundation and held everything together, even when things felt like they might fall apart.

Her mother, a gentle woman with a smile that could light up even the darkest days, was Bella’s constant source of strength. Her father, a man of few words, showed his love in quieter ways—a hand on her shoulder when she needed it, a cup of tea placed silently beside her when she was deep in thought. And then there was her younger brother, always a bundle of energy, contrasting Bella’s calmness with his wild spirit. In their own way, they were perfect for one another, filling the gaps in each other’s lives with laughter, understanding, and sometimes silence.

Yet, behind Bella's calm demeanour, there was something more—an unspoken ache that even she couldn't fully name. It was as though she was waiting for something, or someone, to awaken a part of her that had been long asleep.

Bella even had a boyfriend, a fact that made many envious. His name was Caden. With untidy, dark hair that always seemed to fall perfectly in place and a smirk that hinted at mischief, Caden was the kind of guy who could make heads turn without even trying. He had an effortless coolness about him—he was the boy who skipped class but still managed to pass, the one who walked through life with his hands shoved in his pockets as though nothing could touch him.

To the outside world, Caden seemed like the perfect match for Bella. Where she was calm and introspective, he was bold and adventurous. His devil-may-care attitude contrasted with her quiet, steady presence, and for a while, Bella thought they balanced each other out. But beneath the surface, she felt something was amiss—something she tried to ignore for longer than she should have.

Caden was deviant in a way that both intrigued and troubled her. He had a rebellious streak, always pushing boundaries just for the thrill of it. He wasn’t one to follow rules, and though Bella admired his free spirit at first, it began to wear on her. He could be careless—about life, about the future, and most of all, about their relationship. Sometimes, he would blow off their plans with a half-hearted apology or shrug off her feelings as if they didn’t matter. His laughter, once charming, started to feel hollow, and the thrill of being with him began to fade as the reality of his indifference set in.

Caden wasn’t serious about them—Bella knew that deep down. There was a distance in his eyes whenever she tried to talk about something meaningful, a distraction that never seemed to go away. She would catch him scrolling through his phone while she was talking or making plans with his friends without even asking if she wanted to join. The small moments of intimacy they shared felt fleeting, like he was always halfway out the door.