Disclaimer: this story is fictional and is for entertainment purposes only and the story made by me and please do not take it on your heart, kidney, liver or lungs ....
The city of Oakhaven was a place of gray concrete and perpetual drizzle, a fitting backdrop for a girl who felt like a ghost haunting her own life. Anne walked through the crowded subways and flickering streetlights with a face that resembled carved marble. Her expression never shifted, her eyes never brightened, and her voice remained a flat, low monotone that discouraged anyone from striking up a conversation.
To the world, she was a statue in motion. To herself, she was a hollow shell, a vessel emptied of feeling by years of a childhood that no human should have to endure.
The toxicity of her upbringing had been a slow, caustic drip that eventually burned away her ability to cry, laugh, or fear. Her parents had been architects of a domestic prison, using silence as a weapon and cruelty as a language. By the time Anne turned eighteen and escaped into a tiny, soul crushing apartment, she believed her nervous system had simply short circuited.
She convinced herself that she was incapable of love or empathy. She was a biological machine, ticking through her shifts at the local library and eating her solitary meals in a silence that she mistook for peace. What Anne did not know was that she was never truly alone.
In the shadows of the alleyway across from her building, behind the frosted glass of the coffee shop she frequented, and in the reflection of the windows she passed, a pair of eyes followed her every move. Elias was a man who lived in the periphery. He was obsessed with the stillness of her. He watched the way she tucked a stray hair behind her ear with mechanical precision. He knew the exact route she took to work and the exact time she turned off her bedside lamp.
To him, her lack of emotion wasn't a void, it was a canvas. He saw the subtle tension in her jaw that she didn't even realize she held. He was a predator of her routine, a silent witness to a life lived in a vacuum. He didn't want to break her silence, he wanted to own it.
One Tuesday evening, the sky turned a bruised shade of purple as a biting wind swept through the streets. Anne was walking home later than usual, her boots clicking rhythmically against the pavement. As she turned a corner into a narrow shortcut, a sound pierced the heavy air. It wasn't the usual screech of brakes or the hum of distant sirens. It was a thin, wavering wail.
Anne stopped. She looked toward a pile of discarded cardboard boxes near a rusted dumpster. There, wrapped in a thin, stained blanket that offered no protection against the cold, lay an infant. The child was tiny, his skin beginning to take on a bluish tint, his cries weakening with every labored breath. He had been abandoned in the most literal sense, left like trash in a world that had forgotten him.
Anne stood over the bundle for a long time. She expected to feel nothing. She waited for the familiar numbness to settle in, for her brain to tell her to walk away and call the authorities from a safe distance.
But as the baby’s small, frantic hand escaped the blanket and brushed against her leather boot, something cataclysmic happened inside her. It was as if a tectonic plate in her soul had finally shifted. A surge of raw, agonizing heat flooded her chest. The ice she had built around her heart didn't melt, it shattered.
She dropped to her knees, her breath hitching in a way she hadn't experienced in a decade. She gathered the small, shivering body into her arms, tucking him inside her heavy coat against her own skin.
The warmth of the child felt like a brand. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, finally spilled over her cheeks. She wasn't emotionless.She was a mother who had been waiting for a reason to exist.
Anne didn't call the police. In her fractured mind, she saw the system as just another form of the abuse she had fled. She took the boy home. She named him Leo. For the next year, Anne’s life transformed into a frantic, beautiful blur of sleepless nights and soft lullabies.
She learned how to soothe his colic, how to make him giggle by booping his nose, and how to protect him with a ferocity that terrified her. The hollow girl was gone. In her place was a woman whose every heartbeat was dedicated to the tiny human growing in her care.
Throughout this year of transformation, Elias watched with a new, dark fascination. He saw her smile for the first time, and it nearly broke his mind. He watched her through the nursery window he had secretly tampered with, seeing her rock the child to sleep. He grew jealous of the baby, yet he was captivated by the softness he had unlocked in her.
He began to leave anonymous gifts on her doorstep. He left a high quality formula, soft wool blankets, and once, a hand carved wooden rattle. Anne assumed they were from a kind neighbor or a charity group she had contacted, never suspecting the monster in the bushes.
One night, a massive storm knocked out the power in the neighborhood. Leo was teething and screaming in pain, and Anne was reaching her breaking point. She ran out of the soothing gel the doctor had recommended.
Desperate and acting on instinct, she bundled Leo up and headed toward the twenty four hour pharmacy three blocks away. The streets were a chaotic mess of fallen branches and darkness. As she crossed a slick intersection, a car with dimmed headlights hydroplaned, spinning wildly toward her.
Anne froze, clutching Leo to her chest, shielding him with her own body as she braced for the impact.....
She felt a pair of powerful arms wrap around her waist and yank her backward with violent force. The car missed her by inches, crashing into a metal pole with a deafening crunch. Anne tumbled onto the wet pavement, gasping for air, still holding Leo tight.
A man was kneeling over her. He was handsome in a sharp, haunting way, with dark eyes that seemed to see through her skin. He checked her for injuries with a strange, practiced familiarity. Are you alright, Anne? he asked. His voice was like velvet over gravel.
How do you know my name? she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. I’ve lived in the apartment across from you for months, he lied smoothly, flashing a gentle, reassuring smile. I’ve seen you at the library. I’m Julian.
In her state of shock and overwhelming gratitude, Anne saw him as a guardian angel. Over the next few months, Julian became a permanent fixture in her life. He was there to help carry groceries, he played with Leo, and he provided the sense of security Anne had never known. She found herself falling for him with the same intensity she felt for her son. He was her savior, her rock, the man who had pulled her from the jaws of death.
They were married on a quiet, sunny afternoon in a small chapel. Anne felt like she was finally living a fairy tale. That night, in their new home, she went to the basement to find some extra pillows. She stumbled upon a locked door she hadn't noticed during the move. Using a spare key she found on the ledge, she opened it.
The room was a shrine. The walls were covered in hundreds of photographs of her. There were photos of her from years ago, looking emotionless at the library. There were photos of the night she found Leo. There were journals detailing her every meal, her every cry, and her every secret habit. On a central table sat a small, dried flower she had dropped two years prior.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. Julian hadn't just been a neighbor. He was the shadow. He was the stalker. He had orchestrated his entry into her life, perhaps even the very circumstances that led her to him.
As the door creaked behind her, she turned to see her husband standing there. He wasn't angry. He looked at her with a terrifying, adoring devotion. You were so beautiful when you were empty, Anne, he said, stepping into the light of the basement bulb. But you are magnificent now that I’ve given you a reason to feel.
Anne looked at the photos, then back at the man she had sworn to spend her life with. She thought of Leo sleeping peacefully upstairs, a child she could only keep because of the financial stability and protection Julian provided. She looked at the ring on her finger.
The horror of her situation warred with the twisted reality that she truly, deeply loved the man who had hunted her. She didn't scream. She didn't run. She simply stood in the center of her own cage, realizing that she had traded one kind of silence for a much louder, much darker obsession.
Disclaimer: this story is fictional and is for entertainment purposes only and the story made by me and please do not take it on your heart, kidney, liver or lungs ....
The hallways of St. Xx Architecture Wing always smelled of graphite and rain, but for Zane, they smelled like her. Karys.
He was the ghost in her periphery, the boy who sat three rows back in Structural Design, memorizing the way she tucked a stray silver lock of hair behind her ear. Zane didn’t just love Karys; he curated his entire existence around her. He knew she took her coffee with two sugars, that she hummed when she was nervous, and that she was currently dating the campus golden boy, Julian.
The Shadow’s Watch
Zane’s love wasn’t loud. It was a silent, protective shroud. When Karys received anonymous threatening notes in her locker, Zane was the one who spent his nights scouring the dark web to find the source. When her tires were slashed, he "happened" to be nearby with a spare.
To the world, Zane was a brooding artist with a sketchbook full of shadows. To Karys, he was a kind stranger who showed up exactly when the world felt like it was closing in.
The Thriller Unfolds
One rainy Tuesday, Julian went missing. The campus was paralyzed with fear. Karys was a wreck, her eyes hollowed out by grief. "I’ll find him," Zane promised her in the library, his voice a low vibration.
"How?" she whispered, clutching his sleeve. "The police have nothing."
Zane simply squeezed her hand. Over the next week, the story took a dark turn. Evidence began appearing in Zane’s dorm room: Julian’s watch, a blood-stained scarf, and a digital trail of heated arguments. The "soft" romance turned cold.
Karys found the items while looking for Zane, her heart shattering. Her protector was her predator. She realized Zane’s "one-sided love" had morphed into a lethal obsession.
She called the police, her voice trembling as she turned in the only man who had ever truly seen her.
The trial was short. Zane refused to speak in his own defense, staring at Karys with an expression of pure, tragic devotion as he was led away. But three months later, a package arrived at Karys’s door. It was a drive containing a hidden camera feed from Julian’s own apartment.
The footage revealed the truth: Julian hadn't been a golden boy. He was the head of a local trafficking ring, and he had been planning to "sell" Karys to settle a gambling debt.
The night he disappeared, the footage showed Julian attacking Zane, who had intervened to save her. Zane hadn't kidnapped Julian; Julian had fled the country to escape the authorities Zane had secretly alerted.
Zane had planted the "evidence" in his own room to lead the police to Julian's crimes, knowing it would make him look guilty but would keep Karys under police protection until the threat was gone. He took the fall to ensure she stayed a victim in the eyes of the law, rather than a target for Julian’s associates.
Karys sprinted to the correctional facility, her breath hitching in her chest. When Zane walked into the visiting room, he looked thin, but his eyes lit up the moment he saw her.
"You idiot," she sobbed against the glass. "You almost let them throw away your life." "It was already yours," he replied softly.
With the new evidence, Zane was exonerated within weeks. They didn't go back to being strangers. The "one-sided" shadow finally stepped into the light.
Zane didn't have to watch her from three rows back anymore; he sat right beside her, his sketchbook finally filled with the color of her smile instead of the grey of her absence.
It's a one sided love story, it's emotional, it has betrayals ... Btw i again ended up writing many stories 🥲
Female lead: Elara Male lead: Julian
Disclaimer: this story is fictional and is for entertainment purposes only and the story made by me and please do not take it on your heart, kidney, liver or lungs ....
The hallways of St. The Medical College smelled of antiseptic and old books. For Elara, the scent was synonymous with Julian. He was the brilliant, quiet prodigy who sat three rows ahead in Anatomy, his fingers moving with a precision that made her heart ache.
Elara’s love wasn't a loud explosion. It was a silent, meticulous devotion. She didn't just admire him; she studied him. She knew he took his coffee black at 4:00 PM, that he hummed Debussy when stressed, and that he carried a silver locket he never opened. She was the shadow in the library, the girl who watched him from the balcony, loving him with a ferocity that bordered on worship.
_The Mystery of the Red Envelope_
The thriller began in their final semester. Students started disappearing. First, a rival of Julian’s in the surgery honors program. Then, a girl who had once tried to flirt with him in the cafeteria. The campus was paralyzed by fear, but Elara felt a strange, dark sense of protection.
Every morning, Elara left an anonymous red envelope in Julian’s locker. Inside were detailed anatomical sketches of hearts, lungs, and eyes, paired with poetic confessions of her love. She never signed them. She didn't need to. The act of giving was her sustenance.
One evening, Elara followed Julian into the basement labs. The air was frigid. She saw him standing over a metal table, his back to her. "I know you're there," Julian whispered, his voice like velvet over gravel.
Elara stepped into the light, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe, Julian. With everything happening..." He turned, and for the first time, he smiled.
It wasn't the smile of a student. It was sharp, cold, and beautiful. He held up one of her red envelopes. "Your sketches are perfect, Elara. The proportions, the clinical accuracy. You see the human body the way I do. As a collection of parts waiting to be understood."
_The Emotional Peak_
Elara felt a rush of euphoria. He noticed her. He appreciated her. "I've loved you since the first day," she confessed, tears blurring her vision. "I would do anything for you. I would keep any secret."
Julian walked toward her, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. His skin was ice cold. "I’ve been so lonely, Elara. Everyone else is so... fragile. But you? You’ve been watching me. You’ve seen the real me, haven’t you?"
She nodded fervently, drowning in the intensity of the moment. It was the softest romance she had ever dared to imagine. He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers.
"The police are coming to the dorms tonight," he murmured. "They found a lead. I need you to hide the silver locket for me. Can you do that? If you love me, keep it safe."
She took the locket, feeling its weight. It was the ultimate proof of his trust. She spent the night clutching it to her chest, weeping with the sheer weight of her unrequited love finally being acknowledged.
_The Final Twist_
The next morning, the campus was swarming with sirens. Elara stood by the gates, waiting for Julian to find her so they could flee together. She felt like a heroine in a tragic masterpiece.
A detective approached her, showing a photograph of Julian. "Miss, have you seen this man? We've linked him to the disappearances."
"He’s innocent!" Elara cried out, her hand tightening around the silver locket in her pocket. "You don't understand him!"
"We found his journal," the detective said gently. "He wasn't just a killer. He was a collector. But he wasn't working alone. He wrote about a 'Guardian' who provided him with the schedules and locations of every victim. Someone who watched everyone from the shadows."
Elara’s blood turned to ice. She pulled the locket out and finally snapped it open, expecting to see a photo of Julian’s mother or perhaps a lock of hair. Instead, the locket was empty, save for a small, microscopic engraving on the inner gold. It wasn't a name or a date. It was a list of her own daily routine:
7:00 AM: Library East Wing.
12:00 PM: Cafeteria Corner Table.
4:00 PM: Watching me from the balcony.
11:00 PM: Writing red envelopes.
Underneath the list, in Julian's elegant handwriting, were the words: Thank you for the alibi, Elara. By the time you read this, the GPS tracker inside this locket will have signaled the police to your exact location. A one sided love is the perfect place to bury a crime.
As the handcuffs clicked around her wrists, Elara looked up to see Julian standing across the street, blending into the crowd, blowing her a silent, mocking kiss before vanishing forever.....
THE END
If you want more one sided stories then let me know, and also do you all want a happy or sad ending.
Disclaimer: this story is fictional and is for entertainment purposes only and the story made by me and please do not take it on your heart, kidney, liver or lungs ....
Crystal and Kartik had a friendship built on a foundation of mutual respect, shared trauma from organic chemistry, and an unspoken agreement that neither was allowed to make a major life decision without first consulting the other’s sarcasm.
Their Saturday afternoon started in the most dangerous place possible: a high-end, minimalist furniture store where the price tags had more zeros than Kartik’s dating prospects. Crystal was on a mission to find a "statement piece" for her new studio apartment, while Kartik was mostly there to see how many $4,000 sofas he could sit on before security gave him the "please leave" squint.
The Incident of the Scandinavian Beanbag Crystal stopped in front of a blob. There was no other word for it. It was a giant, overstuffed sack covered in what looked like the sheared wool of a very confused llama.
"Kartik, look. It’s the ‘Nordic Cloud.’ It represents the fluidity of comfort," Crystal whispered, reading the placard with a level of reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts.
Kartik poked the blob with one finger. "It looks like a giant toasted marshmallow that fell in a barbershop. How much?"
"Two thousand dollars," Crystal said, her eyes glazing over with the fever of consumerism. "Crystal, for two thousand dollars, that chair should be able to do my taxes and tell me I’m pretty every morning. It’s a bag of beans. You are contemplating spending two months' rent on a bag of beans."
"It’s an investment in my aesthetic, Kartik! You wouldn't understand. You still have a milk crate as a nightstand."
The Descent
To prove a point, Crystal decided to test the Cloud. She didn't just sit; she descended. It was a graceful, slow-motion sink into the abyss of luxury wool. For three seconds, she looked like a catalog model. Then, the physics of the Nordic Cloud took over.
The beans shifted. The wool expanded. Crystal’s center of gravity vanished into the fourth dimension.
"Oh," Crystal said, her voice muffled by a flap of llama wool. "Oh no."
"You look very aesthetic right now," Kartik remarked, taking out his phone to record the moment for posterity. "You look like a turtle that’s been flipped onto its shell, but the shell is made of expensive lint."
"Help me up," Crystal hissed, her arms flailing uselessly. Every time she tried to push herself out, the beanbag swallowed her deeper. She was no longer a person; she was a structural component of the furniture.
"I can't," Kartik said, struggling to breathe through his laughter. "The sign says 'Do Not Touch the Displays.' If I touch you, I'm technically touching the Cloud, and I can't afford the liability."
The Rescue Operation
A store associate, a man named Julian who wore glasses so thin they were basically just thoughts, drifted toward them.
"Is the Cloud providing the expected level of decompression?" Julian asked, looking down at the pile of wool where Crystal’s legs were sticking out at a 45-degree angle.
"She’s decompressing so hard she might actually become one with the floor," Kartik replied, wiping a tear from his eye. "Is there a release valve? Or do we just feed her through a straw for the next few days?"
Crystal finally managed to hook her heel into the carpet and, with a sound like a vacuum seal breaking, launched herself forward. She tumbled onto the floor, landing in a heap at Julian’s feet. She stood up, brushed a stray piece of wool from her forehead, and looked Julian dead in the eye. "It’s a bit too firm," she said with a straight face. "Understood," Julian replied, not blinking. "It takes a certain... soul... to tame the Cloud."
The Aftermath
As they walked out of the store Crystal empty handed and Kartik still vibrating with suppressed giggles they headed toward the food court. "I'm never letting you live that down," Kartik promised. "I’ve already sent the video to your mom. She said the beanbag won the fight."
"I hate you," Crystal said, though she was already smiling. "But seriously, did it look like I was being eaten by a sheep?"
"Worse. It looked like you were being reclaimed by nature. But hey, on the bright side, you saved two thousand dollars. That’s enough to buy approximately four hundred milk crates. We could build you a palace."
"One more word about milk crates and I'm telling everyone your 'signature' cologne is actually just a scented laundry detergent you spray on your neck." Kartik gasped, offended. "It’s called 'Fresh Linen,' Crystal! It’s a lifestyle!"
Nisha
Should I change my channel name, it's too formal .
16 hours ago | [YT] | 0
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Nisha
Disclaimer: this story is fictional and is for entertainment purposes only and the story made by me and please do not take it on your heart, kidney, liver or lungs ....
The city of Oakhaven was a place of gray concrete and perpetual drizzle, a fitting backdrop for a girl who felt like a ghost haunting her own life. Anne walked through the crowded subways and flickering streetlights with a face that resembled carved marble. Her expression never shifted, her eyes never brightened, and her voice remained a flat, low monotone that discouraged anyone from striking up a conversation.
To the world, she was a statue in motion. To herself, she was a hollow shell, a vessel emptied of feeling by years of a childhood that no human should have to endure.
The toxicity of her upbringing had been a slow, caustic drip that eventually burned away her ability to cry, laugh, or fear. Her parents had been architects of a domestic prison, using silence as a weapon and cruelty as a language. By the time Anne turned eighteen and escaped into a tiny, soul crushing apartment, she believed her nervous system had simply short circuited.
She convinced herself that she was incapable of love or empathy. She was a biological machine, ticking through her shifts at the local library and eating her solitary meals in a silence that she mistook for peace.
What Anne did not know was that she was never truly alone.
In the shadows of the alleyway across from her building, behind the frosted glass of the coffee shop she frequented, and in the reflection of the windows she passed, a pair of eyes followed her every move. Elias was a man who lived in the periphery. He was obsessed with the stillness of her. He watched the way she tucked a stray hair behind her ear with mechanical precision. He knew the exact route she took to work and the exact time she turned off her bedside lamp.
To him, her lack of emotion wasn't a void, it was a canvas. He saw the subtle tension in her jaw that she didn't even realize she held. He was a predator of her routine, a silent witness to a life lived in a vacuum. He didn't want to break her silence, he wanted to own it.
One Tuesday evening, the sky turned a bruised shade of purple as a biting wind swept through the streets. Anne was walking home later than usual, her boots clicking rhythmically against the pavement. As she turned a corner into a narrow shortcut, a sound pierced the heavy air. It wasn't the usual screech of brakes or the hum of distant sirens. It was a thin, wavering wail.
Anne stopped. She looked toward a pile of discarded cardboard boxes near a rusted dumpster. There, wrapped in a thin, stained blanket that offered no protection against the cold, lay an infant. The child was tiny, his skin beginning to take on a bluish tint, his cries weakening with every labored breath. He had been abandoned in the most literal sense, left like trash in a world that had forgotten him.
Anne stood over the bundle for a long time. She expected to feel nothing. She waited for the familiar numbness to settle in, for her brain to tell her to walk away and call the authorities from a safe distance.
But as the baby’s small, frantic hand escaped the blanket and brushed against her leather boot, something cataclysmic happened inside her. It was as if a tectonic plate in her soul had finally shifted. A surge of raw, agonizing heat flooded her chest. The ice she had built around her heart didn't melt, it shattered.
She dropped to her knees, her breath hitching in a way she hadn't experienced in a decade. She gathered the small, shivering body into her arms, tucking him inside her heavy coat against her own skin.
The warmth of the child felt like a brand. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, finally spilled over her cheeks. She wasn't emotionless.She was a mother who had been waiting for a reason to exist.
Anne didn't call the police. In her fractured mind, she saw the system as just another form of the abuse she had fled. She took the boy home. She named him Leo. For the next year, Anne’s life transformed into a frantic, beautiful blur of sleepless nights and soft lullabies.
She learned how to soothe his colic, how to make him giggle by booping his nose, and how to protect him with a ferocity that terrified her. The hollow girl was gone. In her place was a woman whose every heartbeat was dedicated to the tiny human growing in her care.
Throughout this year of transformation, Elias watched with a new, dark fascination. He saw her smile for the first time, and it nearly broke his mind. He watched her through the nursery window he had secretly tampered with, seeing her rock the child to sleep. He grew jealous of the baby, yet he was captivated by the softness he had unlocked in her.
He began to leave anonymous gifts on her doorstep. He left a high quality formula, soft wool blankets, and once, a hand carved wooden rattle. Anne assumed they were from a kind neighbor or a charity group she had contacted, never suspecting the monster in the bushes.
One night, a massive storm knocked out the power in the neighborhood. Leo was teething and screaming in pain, and Anne was reaching her breaking point. She ran out of the soothing gel the doctor had recommended.
Desperate and acting on instinct, she bundled Leo up and headed toward the twenty four hour pharmacy three blocks away.
The streets were a chaotic mess of fallen branches and darkness. As she crossed a slick intersection, a car with dimmed headlights hydroplaned, spinning wildly toward her.
Anne froze, clutching Leo to her chest, shielding him with her own body as she braced for the impact.....
She felt a pair of powerful arms wrap around her waist and yank her backward with violent force. The car missed her by inches, crashing into a metal pole with a deafening crunch. Anne tumbled onto the wet pavement, gasping for air, still holding Leo tight.
A man was kneeling over her. He was handsome in a sharp, haunting way, with dark eyes that seemed to see through her skin. He checked her for injuries with a strange, practiced familiarity.
Are you alright, Anne? he asked. His voice was like velvet over gravel.
How do you know my name? she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
I’ve lived in the apartment across from you for months, he lied smoothly, flashing a gentle, reassuring smile. I’ve seen you at the library. I’m Julian.
In her state of shock and overwhelming gratitude, Anne saw him as a guardian angel. Over the next few months, Julian became a permanent fixture in her life. He was there to help carry groceries, he played with Leo, and he provided the sense of security Anne had never known. She found herself falling for him with the same intensity she felt for her son. He was her savior, her rock, the man who had pulled her from the jaws of death.
They were married on a quiet, sunny afternoon in a small chapel. Anne felt like she was finally living a fairy tale. That night, in their new home, she went to the basement to find some extra pillows. She stumbled upon a locked door she hadn't noticed during the move. Using a spare key she found on the ledge, she opened it.
The room was a shrine. The walls were covered in hundreds of photographs of her. There were photos of her from years ago, looking emotionless at the library. There were photos of the night she found Leo. There were journals detailing her every meal, her every cry, and her every secret habit. On a central table sat a small, dried flower she had dropped two years prior.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. Julian hadn't just been a neighbor. He was the shadow. He was the stalker. He had orchestrated his entry into her life, perhaps even the very circumstances that led her to him.
As the door creaked behind her, she turned to see her husband standing there. He wasn't angry. He looked at her with a terrifying, adoring devotion.
You were so beautiful when you were empty, Anne, he said, stepping into the light of the basement bulb. But you are magnificent now that I’ve given you a reason to feel.
Anne looked at the photos, then back at the man she had sworn to spend her life with. She thought of Leo sleeping peacefully upstairs, a child she could only keep because of the financial stability and protection Julian provided. She looked at the ring on her finger.
The horror of her situation warred with the twisted reality that she truly, deeply loved the man who had hunted her. She didn't scream. She didn't run. She simply stood in the center of her own cage, realizing that she had traded one kind of silence for a much louder, much darker obsession.
@AnabiyaNawaid @Prachi_kalura @Shadowx_kookie @Dior_iee @deepakgaikwad115 @KaifKhan-b5k6q @GOD.VFX. @Phonk_universe_01 @Crystal-_-xtics @Lis.kook_977 @Tae.liyana17 @Lumira_xthetic @lia2009-b4j @Sweba-c5k-p3w @Darkangelcuts @Crystal-_-xtics @ifwcheeks @Darkangelcuts
Sorry if I forgot someone
2 days ago (edited) | [YT] | 6
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Nisha
Next story will be for emotionless people
3 days ago | [YT] | 6
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Nisha
Happy Birthday to you @Shadowx_kookie hope you enjoy your day to your fullest ☺️
4 days ago | [YT] | 6
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Nisha
Disclaimer: this story is fictional and is for entertainment purposes only and the story made by me and please do not take it on your heart, kidney, liver or lungs ....
The hallways of St. Xx Architecture Wing always smelled of graphite and rain, but for Zane, they smelled like her. Karys.
He was the ghost in her periphery, the boy who sat three rows back in Structural Design, memorizing the way she tucked a stray silver lock of hair behind her ear. Zane didn’t just love Karys; he curated his entire existence around her. He knew she took her coffee with two sugars, that she hummed when she was nervous, and that she was currently dating the campus golden boy, Julian.
The Shadow’s Watch
Zane’s love wasn’t loud. It was a silent, protective shroud. When Karys received anonymous threatening notes in her locker, Zane was the one who spent his nights scouring the dark web to find the source. When her tires were slashed, he "happened" to be nearby with a spare.
To the world, Zane was a brooding artist with a sketchbook full of shadows. To Karys, he was a kind stranger who showed up exactly when the world felt like it was closing in.
The Thriller Unfolds
One rainy Tuesday, Julian went missing. The campus was paralyzed with fear. Karys was a wreck, her eyes hollowed out by grief.
"I’ll find him," Zane promised her in the library, his voice a low vibration.
"How?" she whispered, clutching his sleeve. "The police have nothing."
Zane simply squeezed her hand. Over the next week, the story took a dark turn. Evidence began appearing in Zane’s dorm room: Julian’s watch, a blood-stained scarf, and a digital trail of heated arguments. The "soft" romance turned cold.
Karys found the items while looking for Zane, her heart shattering. Her protector was her predator. She realized Zane’s "one-sided love" had morphed into a lethal obsession.
She called the police, her voice trembling as she turned in the only man who had ever truly seen her.
The trial was short. Zane refused to speak in his own defense, staring at Karys with an expression of pure, tragic devotion as he was led away.
But three months later, a package arrived at Karys’s door. It was a drive containing a hidden camera feed from Julian’s own apartment.
The footage revealed the truth: Julian hadn't been a golden boy. He was the head of a local trafficking ring, and he had been planning to "sell" Karys to settle a gambling debt.
The night he disappeared, the footage showed Julian attacking Zane, who had intervened to save her. Zane hadn't kidnapped Julian; Julian had fled the country to escape the authorities Zane had secretly alerted.
Zane had planted the "evidence" in his own room to lead the police to Julian's crimes, knowing it would make him look guilty but would keep Karys under police protection until the threat was gone. He took the fall to ensure she stayed a victim in the eyes of the law, rather than a target for Julian’s associates.
Karys sprinted to the correctional facility, her breath hitching in her chest. When Zane walked into the visiting room, he looked thin, but his eyes lit up the moment he saw her.
"You idiot," she sobbed against the glass. "You almost let them throw away your life."
"It was already yours," he replied softly.
With the new evidence, Zane was exonerated within weeks. They didn't go back to being strangers. The "one-sided" shadow finally stepped into the light.
Zane didn't have to watch her from three rows back anymore; he sat right beside her, his sketchbook finally filled with the color of her smile instead of the grey of her absence.
THE END...I hope you enjoyed
4 days ago (edited) | [YT] | 3
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Nisha
Today I'll do the happy ending but it's a one sided love story again 🫶🏻
4 days ago | [YT] | 5
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Nisha
It's a one sided love story, it's emotional, it has betrayals ... Btw i again ended up writing many stories 🥲
Female lead: Elara
Male lead: Julian
Disclaimer: this story is fictional and is for entertainment purposes only and the story made by me and please do not take it on your heart, kidney, liver or lungs ....
The hallways of St. The Medical College smelled of antiseptic and old books. For Elara, the scent was synonymous with Julian. He was the brilliant, quiet prodigy who sat three rows ahead in Anatomy, his fingers moving with a precision that made her heart ache.
Elara’s love wasn't a loud explosion. It was a silent, meticulous devotion. She didn't just admire him; she studied him. She knew he took his coffee black at 4:00 PM, that he hummed Debussy when stressed, and that he carried a silver locket he never opened. She was the shadow in the library, the girl who watched him from the balcony, loving him with a ferocity that bordered on worship.
_The Mystery of the Red Envelope_
The thriller began in their final semester. Students started disappearing. First, a rival of Julian’s in the surgery honors program. Then, a girl who had once tried to flirt with him in the cafeteria. The campus was paralyzed by fear, but Elara felt a strange, dark sense of protection.
Every morning, Elara left an anonymous red envelope in Julian’s locker. Inside were detailed anatomical sketches of hearts, lungs, and eyes, paired with poetic confessions of her love. She never signed them. She didn't need to. The act of giving was her sustenance.
One evening, Elara followed Julian into the basement labs. The air was frigid. She saw him standing over a metal table, his back to her.
"I know you're there," Julian whispered, his voice like velvet over gravel.
Elara stepped into the light, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe, Julian. With everything happening..."
He turned, and for the first time, he smiled.
It wasn't the smile of a student. It was sharp, cold, and beautiful. He held up one of her red envelopes. "Your sketches are perfect, Elara. The proportions, the clinical accuracy. You see the human body the way I do. As a collection of parts waiting to be understood."
_The Emotional Peak_
Elara felt a rush of euphoria. He noticed her. He appreciated her. "I've loved you since the first day," she confessed, tears blurring her vision. "I would do anything for you. I would keep any secret."
Julian walked toward her, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. His skin was ice cold. "I’ve been so lonely, Elara. Everyone else is so... fragile. But you? You’ve been watching me. You’ve seen the real me, haven’t you?"
She nodded fervently, drowning in the intensity of the moment. It was the softest romance she had ever dared to imagine. He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers.
"The police are coming to the dorms tonight," he murmured. "They found a lead. I need you to hide the silver locket for me. Can you do that? If you love me, keep it safe."
She took the locket, feeling its weight. It was the ultimate proof of his trust. She spent the night clutching it to her chest, weeping with the sheer weight of her unrequited love finally being acknowledged.
_The Final Twist_
The next morning, the campus was swarming with sirens. Elara stood by the gates, waiting for Julian to find her so they could flee together. She felt like a heroine in a tragic masterpiece.
A detective approached her, showing a photograph of Julian. "Miss, have you seen this man? We've linked him to the disappearances."
"He’s innocent!" Elara cried out, her hand tightening around the silver locket in her pocket. "You don't understand him!"
"We found his journal," the detective said gently. "He wasn't just a killer. He was a collector. But he wasn't working alone. He wrote about a 'Guardian' who provided him with the schedules and locations of every victim. Someone who watched everyone from the shadows."
Elara’s blood turned to ice. She pulled the locket out and finally snapped it open, expecting to see a photo of Julian’s mother or perhaps a lock of hair.
Instead, the locket was empty, save for a small, microscopic engraving on the inner gold. It wasn't a name or a date. It was a list of her own daily routine:
7:00 AM: Library East Wing.
12:00 PM: Cafeteria Corner Table.
4:00 PM: Watching me from the balcony.
11:00 PM: Writing red envelopes.
Underneath the list, in Julian's elegant handwriting, were the words: Thank you for the alibi, Elara. By the time you read this, the GPS tracker inside this locket will have signaled the police to your exact location. A one sided love is the perfect place to bury a crime.
As the handcuffs clicked around her wrists, Elara looked up to see Julian standing across the street, blending into the crowd, blowing her a silent, mocking kiss before vanishing forever.....
THE END
If you want more one sided stories then let me know, and also do you all want a happy or sad ending.
@Prachi_kalura
5 days ago | [YT] | 6
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Nisha
Which type of story do you want next
5 days ago | [YT] | 6
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Nisha
Thank you everyone for subscribing to me
6 days ago | [YT] | 6
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Nisha
@Crystal-_-xtics @Darkangelcuts
Disclaimer: this story is fictional and is for entertainment purposes only and the story made by me and please do not take it on your heart, kidney, liver or lungs ....
Crystal and Kartik had a friendship built on a foundation of mutual respect, shared trauma from organic chemistry, and an unspoken agreement that neither was allowed to make a major life decision without first consulting the other’s sarcasm.
Their Saturday afternoon started in the most dangerous place possible: a high-end, minimalist furniture store where the price tags had more zeros than Kartik’s dating prospects. Crystal was on a mission to find a "statement piece" for her new studio apartment, while Kartik was mostly there to see how many $4,000 sofas he could sit on before security gave him the "please leave" squint.
The Incident of the Scandinavian Beanbag
Crystal stopped in front of a blob. There was no other word for it. It was a giant, overstuffed sack covered in what looked like the sheared wool of a very confused llama.
"Kartik, look. It’s the ‘Nordic Cloud.’ It represents the fluidity of comfort," Crystal whispered, reading the placard with a level of reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts.
Kartik poked the blob with one finger. "It looks like a giant toasted marshmallow that fell in a barbershop. How much?"
"Two thousand dollars," Crystal said, her eyes glazing over with the fever of consumerism.
"Crystal, for two thousand dollars, that chair should be able to do my taxes and tell me I’m pretty every morning. It’s a bag of beans. You are contemplating spending two months' rent on a bag of beans."
"It’s an investment in my aesthetic, Kartik! You wouldn't understand. You still have a milk crate as a nightstand."
The Descent
To prove a point, Crystal decided to test the Cloud. She didn't just sit; she descended. It was a graceful, slow-motion sink into the abyss of luxury wool. For three seconds, she looked like a catalog model. Then, the physics of the Nordic Cloud took over.
The beans shifted. The wool expanded. Crystal’s center of gravity vanished into the fourth dimension.
"Oh," Crystal said, her voice muffled by a flap of llama wool. "Oh no."
"You look very aesthetic right now," Kartik remarked, taking out his phone to record the moment for posterity. "You look like a turtle that’s been flipped onto its shell, but the shell is made of expensive lint."
"Help me up," Crystal hissed, her arms flailing uselessly. Every time she tried to push herself out, the beanbag swallowed her deeper. She was no longer a person; she was a structural component of the furniture.
"I can't," Kartik said, struggling to breathe through his laughter. "The sign says 'Do Not Touch the Displays.' If I touch you, I'm technically touching the Cloud, and I can't afford the liability."
The Rescue Operation
A store associate, a man named Julian who wore glasses so thin they were basically just thoughts, drifted toward them.
"Is the Cloud providing the expected level of decompression?" Julian asked, looking down at the pile of wool where Crystal’s legs were sticking out at a 45-degree angle.
"She’s decompressing so hard she might actually become one with the floor," Kartik replied, wiping a tear from his eye. "Is there a release valve? Or do we just feed her through a straw for the next few days?"
Crystal finally managed to hook her heel into the carpet and, with a sound like a vacuum seal breaking, launched herself forward. She tumbled onto the floor, landing in a heap at Julian’s feet. She stood up, brushed a stray piece of wool from her forehead, and looked Julian dead in the eye.
"It’s a bit too firm," she said with a straight face.
"Understood," Julian replied, not blinking. "It takes a certain... soul... to tame the Cloud."
The Aftermath
As they walked out of the store Crystal empty handed and Kartik still vibrating with suppressed giggles they headed toward the food court.
"I'm never letting you live that down," Kartik promised. "I’ve already sent the video to your mom. She said the beanbag won the fight."
"I hate you," Crystal said, though she was already smiling. "But seriously, did it look like I was being eaten by a sheep?"
"Worse. It looked like you were being reclaimed by nature. But hey, on the bright side, you saved two thousand dollars. That’s enough to buy approximately four hundred milk crates. We could build you a palace."
"One more word about milk crates and I'm telling everyone your 'signature' cologne is actually just a scented laundry detergent you spray on your neck."
Kartik gasped, offended. "It’s called 'Fresh Linen,' Crystal! It’s a lifestyle!"
1 week ago | [YT] | 9
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