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The influence of true love !!
#WritcoStoryPrompt86
"The Influence of Love." What exactly does that imply to you?
Write a story on it.
I was always the girl who kept to herself, content with my books, my dreams, and the quiet routine of life. School was a blur of faces and voices, but one face, his face, stood out in a way I couldn’t explain. He was different; not because he was loud or extraordinary, but because of the quiet way he carried his grief.
I didn’t know much about him then, only whispers of his mother who had passed away when he was young. There was a sadness in his eyes that lingered even when he smiled. I never thought we’d share anything beyond polite conversations. But life has its own plans, and love always finds a way.
It started with the simplest of gestures. One day, as I sat under the shade of an old tree reading a book, he approached me. "Hi," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability in his tone that caught me off guard. I looked up, meeting his gaze, and something unspoken passed between us.
Over time, we began talking more, small exchanges turning into deep conversations. He never directly confessed his feelings, but in his every action, I could feel it; the way he lingered just a...
"The Influence of Love." What exactly does that imply to you?
Write a story on it.
I was always the girl who kept to herself, content with my books, my dreams, and the quiet routine of life. School was a blur of faces and voices, but one face, his face, stood out in a way I couldn’t explain. He was different; not because he was loud or extraordinary, but because of the quiet way he carried his grief.
I didn’t know much about him then, only whispers of his mother who had passed away when he was young. There was a sadness in his eyes that lingered even when he smiled. I never thought we’d share anything beyond polite conversations. But life has its own plans, and love always finds a way.
It started with the simplest of gestures. One day, as I sat under the shade of an old tree reading a book, he approached me. "Hi," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability in his tone that caught me off guard. I looked up, meeting his gaze, and something unspoken passed between us.
Over time, we began talking more, small exchanges turning into deep conversations. He never directly confessed his feelings, but in his every action, I could feel it; the way he lingered just a...
