Dear Reader ( BK 1 OF DEAR READER SERIES)
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- Parts 62
Dear Reader,
She never signed her name.
She never asked for pity.
She only asked one thing-
that you read.
Inside these pages is a voice you won't forget.
A girl unraveling quietly, honestly, beautifully-one entry at a time.
Somewhere between heartbreak and hope,
between silence and screaming,
she left behind a story for someone to find.
You just did.
This is not a love story.
It's not a fairytale.
It's not a cry for attention.
It's a mirror for anyone who's ever felt invisible.
It's a pulse for the ones still searching for theirs.
And maybe-just maybe-
it's the one voice that finally says what you've never been able to.
Read carefully.
She's been waiting for you.
All Rights Reserved
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Her hand's still. I'm gripping it like it's the last lifeline in a storm. In my head, I'm yelling: You got this. Come back. Do it. But hey.. tears, will you stop making an entrance now? I need focus. Stop. I repeat it like a mantra. You can do it. You can do it. Again. And again. I don't know if I'm trying to convince her... or myself. ~~~ When they uncover the truth about the culprit, will they be able to handle it? Or will it tear everything apart? Their relationship is still new. Will it fall apart under pressure, or will they choose to fight for it? Step into Part Two of this gripping journey.. where light meets shadow, and love is tested by truth. ~~~ Hey lovely readers.. this is a continuation of the story 'His Return (what if...)'. I would recommend reading the first part to better understand what's happening in this one. Happy Reading. Thanks for supporting my words.
Loving him was the cruelest kind of torment-a love that lived in the shadows, one that could never bask in the warmth of the sun. I was nothing more than a stolen moment, a whispered name in the dark, a secret he tucked away between the life he had built and the one he wished he could have. I knew, deep down, that I was a fracture in his story, a fleeting escape from the weight of his reality. And yet, I still clung to him, to the illusion that for a few precious hours, he was mine. But the truth was relentless-it came in the form of unanswered texts, in the way he dressed hurriedly after loving me, in the way he said her name with the same tenderness he once gave me. I had given him my heart, knowing he would never be able to keep it, and yet, I loved him still. Loved him as I watched him walk away, loved him as he returned to the arms of the woman he truly belonged to, loved him as I drowned in the loneliness he left behind. Because no matter how much I wished it to be different, I was not his home-I was just a place he visited before going back to where his heart truly lived.
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