In the quiet corners of a wicked city, where the hum of traffic and the buzz of neon signs blend into a symphony of anonymity, two friends connected through a phone calls to each other. Their voices danced across the wires, weaving stories of laughter, dreams, and shared secrets. His name was Troy, a writer with ink-stained fingers and a penchant for unraveling love mysteries. Hers was Shone, a woman who knew what she’d wanted out of life, her laughter like a sunbeam breaking through storm clouds.
Late nights turned into early mornings as they explored each other's bodies and minds. They spoke of constellations and forgotten childhood tales, of fears and hopes that dared to tiptoe into the light. Their connection transcended screens and pixels; it was a fragile bridge between two hearts, suspended over an abyss of uncertainty.
The day arrived when they decided to meet up face to face. They agreed to meet at a quiet restaurant, its walls adorned with faded book covers and the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. As the door chimed, Shone stepped in, her eyes scanning the room. And there he was—Troy, sitting by the window, his focus fixed on the rain-slicked glass.
They both stumbled over their words, like actors forgetting their lines. The familiarity of their voices clashed with the unfamiliarity of their faces. It was as if they had met for the first time, yet meeting each other in the past with the weight of countless conversations.
Troy's hands trembled as he stirred his coffee. Shone's laughter, once melodic over the phone, now sounded like a nervous bird caught in a storm. They fumbled through awkward silences, their hearts racing in sync. But in that discomfort, something beautiful bloomed—a raw, unlike there first encounter this one was an unfiltered connection that defied logic.
As days turned into weeks, Shone discovered Troy's secret: he was a writer. His mind was an always on characters, plots, and untold stories. But there was a catch. When he wrote, he vanished into worlds beyond her reach. His attention wavered, leaving her feeling like a forgotten bookmark in his life.
"Why do you write?" she asked one evening, her eyes searching his face.
"Because it what I like to do," he replied. "Writing stories is my refuge, my escape."
"But what about us?" Shone's voice cracked. "Am I just another character in your book?"
Troy hesitated, torn between love and his hobby. He wrote stories about meeting love and past relationships that didn’t work out. He penned stories where she was the main character, telling her own stories at the same time battling her own demons.
One stormy night, as rain tapped against their windowpane, Troy sitting at home thinking about Shone and decided to write a short story about how he feels about her. Inside, pages whispered of stolen kisses, moonlit walks, and the love of the second time around that caught them off guard. It was a story woven from their shared moments, a love letter inked in prose.
"You wrote this?" Troy traced the words with his fingers.
"For you," Troy confessed. "I wanted you to know how you very special in my world."
She read every chapter, tears blurring the lines. And when she reached the final page, she found herself—the flawed, contradictory woman who loved fiercely and feared abandonment. It was a mirror reflecting her mix of vulnerability and strength.
Everything was going good they were two that was inseparable each night was like magic glue to one another but fate has it challenges that would send these two down the path of insecurities. Constant questions of where you been or where you going till who is that in background when they are on the phone. Troy was big on loyalty and she was not on that level like he was. It was a Thursday and out of nowhere Shone tells Troy that she’s going out of town for the weekend Troy is it’s a fine time to tell me so who are you going with? Two of my friends I’ll be back Sunday. Troy said, “oh ok have fun”.
Sunday morning Troy woke up out his sleep it’s 9:00 am he looks at his phone no call from Shone. He dials her number it rings no answer and her voicemail picks up. Troy didn’t make nothing of it and went on about his day and then his phone rings it’s Shone.
Troy: Hello?
Shone: Hey you called?
Troy: What’s up? What you doing? I thought you were coming back today?
Shone: I’m taking a bath.
Troy: Hold up you taking a bath and now decide to call me I’ll talk to you whenever you get back.
Troy hangs up the phone.
Monday day arrives and still no call from Shone. Troy sends her text saying “I need to talk to you?”. Later that evening Shone calls him and Troy answers ‘What’s up how can I help you’. Shone replies ‘I’m sitting in the car in your driveway or you coming outside? Troy gets in the car with her and looks at her and it’s written all over her face that she been with another man. For her to come and see me she wanted to tell me that she had moved on but she couldn’t so she came up with a plan like she a victim saying he is disrespectful instead of being a real woman and speaking her mind.
Shone's heart held both gratitude and frustration. Troy's words didn’t immortalized their love, yet he remained elusive. She wondered if their love could thrive in ink and paper, that Troy had wrote about us.
For in their tangled story, she found love in someone else. And maybe, just maybe, love could rewrite and bring them back together to a loving ending.