Story cover for Who- genesis of realism by rioakapoco
Who- genesis of realism
rioakapoco
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    Reads 70
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    Votes 2
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  • WpView
    Reads 70
  • WpVote
    Votes 2
  • WpPart
    Parts 4
  • WpHistory
    Time 5m
rioakapoco
Ongoing, First published Jul 26, 2023
Mature
academicsaestheticcollegeenemiestoloversfuturehomosexualindiaindiemusiclgbtlgbtpridepaintbrushpeerpressurerealliferealworldromanceschoolsmartsongsstraightstressstudentwattpadwritemylife
I had a phase in my life where i used to dedicate all my time and effort to writing , I enjoyed every bit of it but everything is short-lived in this world. I faced something  so tragic that it made me take a sudden hault from everything that I enjoyed. Nevertheless, I am writing again even though my skills have gotten rust on them. This will my escape space, forever. -Thank you
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academicsaestheticcollegeenemiestoloversfuturehomosexualindiaindiemusiclgbtlgbtpridepaintbrushpeerpressurerealliferealworldromanceschoolsmartsongsstraightstressstudentwattpadwritemylife
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The sound of pencil strokes filled the silence, a quiet rhythm against the weight of unspoken words. "I don't even like him." The sketchbook lay open, pages curled at the edges, filled with lines she never meant to draw. His face stared back at her-smudged, incomplete, yet unmistakably him. She sighed, pressing the tip of the pencil against his sketched smile. It wasn't fair. She turned the page. Now, in a crowded university hallway, he leaned against the wall like he belonged there. "Still pretending you don't care?" Rivan's voice held a smirk, but his eyes said something else. She hated that she knew the difference. "He was my childhood tutor. Now, he's my classmate. If this is fate, I want a refund." A flicker of silver caught her eye-the handmade guitar pick spinning between his fingers. Her guitar pick. She had made it without thinking. Had given it away without knowing. Hadn't expected it to find its way to him. He was laying down, staring at the guitar plectrum (pick) above in his hands. His fingers closed over it. "I wonder if she knows she already picked my heart." The paper crinkled beneath her grip, her unfinished sketch staring back at her. "Tell me, Nitya..." The whisper lingered like an unfinished melody. "What am I to you?" ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ｔｒｏｐｅｓ • Childhood frenemies to lovers. • Friends to lovers. • College mates to lovers. ° He fell first and harder. ° Slow burn. ° Long Distance. ° unrequited ° soft romance ° Bestfriend ArchitectxMusician
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Love, Maybe?

55 parts Ongoing

The sound of pencil strokes filled the silence, a quiet rhythm against the weight of unspoken words. "I don't even like him." The sketchbook lay open, pages curled at the edges, filled with lines she never meant to draw. His face stared back at her-smudged, incomplete, yet unmistakably him. She sighed, pressing the tip of the pencil against his sketched smile. It wasn't fair. She turned the page. Now, in a crowded university hallway, he leaned against the wall like he belonged there. "Still pretending you don't care?" Rivan's voice held a smirk, but his eyes said something else. She hated that she knew the difference. "He was my childhood tutor. Now, he's my classmate. If this is fate, I want a refund." A flicker of silver caught her eye-the handmade guitar pick spinning between his fingers. Her guitar pick. She had made it without thinking. Had given it away without knowing. Hadn't expected it to find its way to him. He was laying down, staring at the guitar plectrum (pick) above in his hands. His fingers closed over it. "I wonder if she knows she already picked my heart." The paper crinkled beneath her grip, her unfinished sketch staring back at her. "Tell me, Nitya..." The whisper lingered like an unfinished melody. "What am I to you?" ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ｔｒｏｐｅｓ • Childhood frenemies to lovers. • Friends to lovers. • College mates to lovers. ° He fell first and harder. ° Slow burn. ° Long Distance. ° unrequited ° soft romance ° Bestfriend ArchitectxMusician

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