Dramatic,intimate and romantic story featuring mafia boyfriend

The first time Liora stepped into the Wildwood, the world changed.

The sleepy town of Silverpine hadn’t changed much in the seven years Aria Blake had been gone. The same diner with its faded red-and-white awning sat at the corner of Main and Willow. The gas station still had one rusting pump and a soda machine that hadn’t worked since she was fifteen. And the lake—God, the lake—still shimmered with the kind of stillness that made time feel like it had frozen.Aria parked her small Honda by the edge of the dock and stepped out, breathing in the pine-sweet air. The wind lifted strands of her dark hair and cooled the sweat clinging to her neck after the long drive from Chicago. It was strange, coming back. She’d sworn she never would.But here she was.Mom’s old house needed clearing out. It had sat empty for nearly a year now, ever since the funeral, and Aria had put it off as long as she could. The lawyer had been patient, but her mother’s debts weren’t.Aria adjusted the strap of her backpack and locked the car. Just one week, she told herself. Get in, clean up, sign the sale papers, and get out. Back to Chicago. Back to her job. Back to the life she’d built without the ghosts of Silverpine whispering around every corner.She made it all the way through town without seeing a single soul she recognized—until she stopped at Harper’s Grocery.The bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside, greeted by the comforting scent of fresh bread and floor wax. The place hadn’t changed, either. Mrs. Harper, now silver-haired and smaller than Aria remembered, stood behind the counter chatting with a man whose back was turned.And then he turned.And the air left Aria’s lungs.Jet-black hair, sharp jawline dusted with scruff, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms littered with old scars and ink. His eyes—icy blue and sharper than any memory—met hers.Luca Hale.He was the reason she’d left in the first place.Her first kiss. Her first heartbreak. The boy her mother had warned her about, the town had whispered about, and Aria—good, bookish, rule-following Aria—had fallen for anyway.Seven years hadn’t dulled the edge of him. If anything, time had carved him into something harder, leaner, and even more dangerous-looking. And beautiful. God help her, he was still beautiful.He blinked slowly. “Well, well,” he said, voice low and smooth like whiskey. “Didn’t think I’d see your face in this town again.”Aria forced her feet not to retreat. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”Luca’s mouth curved, half-amused, half-something else. “Some of us don’t get out that easy.”Mrs. Harper looked between them with a spark of recognition in her eyes. “Aria Blake,” she said, reaching for a paper bag. “You look just like your mother.”Aria managed a smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Harper.”Luca didn’t move. Just watched her with that unreadable expression that used to drive her crazy.She grabbed a loaf of bread and some coffee, paid quickly, and made for the door.“See you around, Aria,” Luca said.She didn’t answer.But her heart wouldn’t stop pounding until she was halfway home.The house was just as she’d remembered. Pale yellow siding with peeling paint, ivy creeping up the porch posts, and a front door that stuck halfway before opening. She stepped inside and was immediately hit with a wave of memories—faded floral wallpaper, the creak of old wood, the faint smell of lavender and lemon polish.Home, once.Now, it felt like walking through someone else’s life.Boxes cluttered the living room. Most were from the lawyer—documents, old photographs, heirlooms that hadn’t been claimed. Aria set her groceries down and looked around.It was going to be a long week.She had just started unpacking when a knock came at the door.Cautiously, she opened it—and there he was again.Luca.Standing on her porch like he’d been summoned.“What do you want?” she asked, not unkindly, but not gently either.He shrugged, thumbs hooked in his jeans. “Thought you might need help. Word travels fast in Silverpine.”Of course it did.She narrowed her eyes. “You’re offering to help me?”Luca’s eyes met hers, serious now. “I owe your mom.”Aria’s breath caught. “What?”“She gave me a job when no one else would. After… everything.” His jaw tightened. “She was good to me.”Aria hadn’t known that.She stepped back, conflicted. Letting Luca in was like opening a door to a past she’d spent years trying to lock away.But his eyes weren’t cruel. Just tired. Honest.And maybe—just maybe—she didn’t want to be alone in this house.“You can carry boxes,” she said finally.He nodded once and stepped inside.They worked in silence for a while. Luca carried the heavier boxes, his muscles flexing under his t-shirt. Aria tried not to stare. Tried not to feel the old flutter in her stomach every time he looked at her with those storm-cloud eyes.He didn’t flirt. Didn’t ask questions. Just worked.By sunset, they’d cleared the living room.“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow.“You don’t have to—”“I want to,” he cut in, voice quiet but firm. “Let me help, Aria.”And because part

The first time I saw him, he was sitting on the hood of a beat-up black Mustang, cigarette in one hand, leather jacket clinging to his shoulders like armor. The school parking lot buzzed with the usual chaos—students weaving between cars, teachers shouting last-minute reminders—but he was still, like he didn’t care that the world spun around him. His eyes, hidden behind dark sunglasses, scanned the scene like he was already bored with it all.“That’s Jace Rivera,” whispered my best friend Lena, nudging me with her elbow. “New kid. Transferred from somewhere out west. Rumor is he got kicked out of three schools.”I adjusted the strap on my backpack, pretending not to look. “And what makes you think I care?”“Because you just blinked like you forgot how.”I rolled my eyes, but my stomach fluttered. I didn’t do bad boys. My life was all honor roll, AP classes, and predictable routines. Bad boys meant trouble. And I didn’t have room for trouble.Still, I couldn’t stop watching.He took one last drag of his cigarette, then flicked it to the ground and ground it out with his boot. As if he could feel me staring, he turned his head—just a little—and smirked.That smirk would haunt me.2. Assigned Seats and Accidental SparksFate—or some cruel twist of scheduling—put him in my third-period English class. Mr. Collins gave us a seating chart, but the only open desk left was the one next to mine.He slouched into the seat without a word, pulled out a worn notebook, and began doodling in the margins. I tried to focus on Shakespeare, but the scent of leather, smoke, and something sharp—like danger—made concentration impossible.“You gonna stare all class or just say hi?” he murmured, without looking up.I flushed. “I wasn’t staring.”“Sure.”“Maybe I was just trying to figure out if you know what a metaphor is.”That made him glance at me. His eyes were steel-gray, cool and unreadable. “I know more than you think.”I looked away, but I couldn’t ignore the way my heart beat faster.3. Cracks in the ArmorOver the next few weeks, we danced around each other. He rarely spoke in class but always had the most infuriating answers when called on—answers that made me question everything I thought I understood about the texts. He didn’t raise his hand. He didn’t follow rules. But he listened. Closely.And sometimes, when he thought no one was watching, I’d catch him looking at me.One afternoon, I stayed late to work on my essay. The library was nearly empty, except for the sound of fingers tapping on keyboards. I was stuck on a sentence when a shadow fell across my notebook.“You’re trying too hard,” he said.I looked up, startled. “Excuse me?”“The words,” he said, sliding into the chair across from me. “You’re choking them to death.”I narrowed my eyes. “Thanks for the unsolicited advice.”He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But maybe if you wrote what you felt, instead of what you think people want to hear, it’d be better.”That was the first time he really saw me. And it terrified me how much I wanted him to.

The city buzzed with its usual rhythm—cars honking, street performers playing violins near the corner of 6th and Main, and the scent of roasted coffee beans floating from the café windows. For Alex Turner, it was both overwhelming and exhilarating. He had just arrived in this new place two weeks ago, a fresh chapter inked in the pages of his otherwise predictable life.At thirty-two, Alex had left a secure job in his hometown to pursue his passion—writing. The corporate world had paid the bills, but it had drained him of joy. Now, armed with a modest savings account, a rented studio apartment above a florist, and a heart half-full with hope, he wandered the streets of this unfamiliar city, looking for stories to tell.He found solace in quiet places—parks, riversides, and especially bookstores. There was something comforting about shelves lined with other people’s words, lives, and dreams. And it was on a rainy Thursday afternoon, inside Maple & Ink, a quaint independent bookstore tucked between a bakery and a music shop, that everything changed.He was browsing the poetry section, fingers trailing across the spines of old volumes, when he felt a strange pull—like a string tugging gently at his chest. He turned his head, and that was when he saw her.She stood by the window, a book in hand, framed by soft light. Her hair fell in loose waves, damp at the edges from the rain, and her eyes—warm, thoughtful, endlessly deep—met his. For a moment, neither of them looked away. It was the kind of glance that held a thousand words, though none were spoken. Time didn’t stop, but it slowed, softened.Alex blinked. She offered a polite smile, small and hesitant, and returned to her book. He stared for a second longer, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks, then quickly pretended to study a volume of Neruda’s love poems.What was that?He hadn’t even spoken to her. He didn’t know her name, her voice, anything about her. But something in that single look had struck him like lightning. It wasn’t just attraction—it was familiarity, a sense that he had met her in a dream he forgot until now.By the time he gathered enough courage to approach, she was gone.He rushed to the front of the store, glancing up and down the sidewalk, but all he saw were umbrellas and strangers.For the rest of the day, he couldn’t write. Her face had taken over his thoughts.

Liora lived in the Watcher’s Tower, perched alone atop a silver cliff where land met the breath of stars. Her fingers, long and pale like moonlight, traced constellations in ink every night, recording their language. The stars whispered in dreams—secrets only the cursed could hear.She was cursed, after all.The villagers below called her "Starblessed," but their reverence was laced with fear. No one approached her, not after the night of the Falling Kiss, when her lips had brushed a boy’s cheek—and he had vanished in a shimmer of starlight.That night had changed everything.Now, Liora kept to her tower. She watched. She listened. She never touched.It was on the eve of the Celestial Spiral, a once-in-a-century event where stars spun close to the earth, that something stirred the skies. A streak of silver fire tore across the heavens, so bright it split her vision in half. She gasped and leaned over her balcony, eyes wide as the light fell—not down into the forest or ocean, but right onto her cliffside garden.The impact shook the tower.She raced down the spiral stairs, heart pounding. Something… someone had landed.Among the charred ruins of roses and herbs lay a figure—male, radiant, and very much alive. He looked human, but his skin shimmered faintly, and his eyes were galaxies trapped in flesh. Liora froze.The stars had sent a soul.His lips moved. “Where am I?”“You’ve fallen,” she said softly, kneeling a safe distance away. “You’re a star.”He blinked, dazed. “And you… you carry the curse of silence. I felt it as I passed through the Veil.”Liora drew back. “How do you know that?”“Because your name is written in the sky,” he said. “I am Kael. I have seven days before I burn out.”

There used to be a girl named Chamak in Kashmir. She used to sit on the roof every night. One day, when she went out after hearing the sound coming from outside, what did she see? There was a white horse going by in the sky. There was someone sitting on it, whom she could not see. One day she came out and saw that a white horse was going in the sky with someone sitting on it, she could not see it, she called out but the boy had gone away. By then the same boy came in her dream that night where he made her sit on the same white horse and her dream broke. Then in the morning she felt that whatever she saw last night was all a dream. Maybe then her friend comes to meet her and she tells her that yesterday she and her boyfriend kissed each other. On hearing this Chamak felt something and then Chamak asked her what had happened, how did it happen between you two, without telling anyone about it, her friend left from there, Chamak started thinking about the same thing and she remembered that boy Then that same night she again saw the same white horse in the sky, she called out and this time the boy stopped, she looked towards him and said, Chamak, finally you have recognized me, Chamak said who are you and what is this flying horse, then that boy slowly came near her, Chamak's breathing became faster, he came near her and kissed her and kept doing it, Chamak got a butterfly in her stomach, she felt embarrassed, while kissing her the boy said, I love you, I have come from a place called white palace, whenever I came from here I used to see you, apart from I had this feeling that I wanted to kiss you, I wanted to kiss your lips and after saying this he started kissing Chamak, Chamak could not stop herself, she got lost in his arms,they had sex between them, then in the morning Chamak woke up, that boy was not near her, she felt that she had seen dreams Then that same night she again saw the same white horse in the sky, she called out and this time the boy stopped, she looked towards him and said, Chamak, finally you have recognized me, Chamak said who are you and what is this flying horse, then that boy slowly came near her, Chamak's breathing became faster, he came near her and kissed her and kept doing it, Chamak got a butterfly in her stomach, she felt embarrassed, while kissing her the boy said, I love you, I have come from a place called white horse, whenever I came from here I used to see you, apart from I had this feeling that I wanted to kiss you, I wanted to kiss your lips and after saying this he started kissing Chamak, Chamak could not stop herself, she got lost in his arms, they had sex ,then in the morning Chamak woke up, that boy was not near her, she felt that she had seen dreams again but when she saw that his clothes were off, he was not wearing clothes, she smiled and asked who he was Then Chamak waits for that boy every day she is not able to forget that thing which happened between them, she does not know whether it is a dream or reality, then one day she goes to her friend and tells him that all this has happened, she tells him about that boy, then that same night her friend comes to her house wearing the same clothes, just as Chamak had told about that boy with the white horse, and after coming he tells Chamak that I am the king of your dreams, I love you, I could not tell you that I love you I do that, that's why I came to meet you at night, so that you don't come to know who I am Chamak gets happy after seeing that boy, and hugs him and says, did you tell me why didn't you? You were the one who did that? Then that boy kisses Chamak and says, somewhere you do not understand love, I was scared Chamak looks at him with love and takes a long breath and starts kissing him, while kissing he falls on the bed, then a sound of umm aaaa is heard, then Chamak's mother calls him and says, what happened beta Chamak She says nothing, she is studying, saying this he starts kissing her, then the boy slowly pulls up her top with his hand down, Chamak starts breathing fast and says what are you doing, the boy says do it, I love you, Chamak closes her eyes, then the boy pulls up her top and starts pressing her boobs, Chamak's sound comes aaah aah then he takes his hand down, opening the button of her jeans, he slowly takes his hand down and starts rolling his fingers, Chamak gets a butterfly in her stomach She comes, then he takes her to the washroom and takes off her clothes, Chamak likes all this, then he starts having sex after taking off her jeans, Chamak says Chamak is feeling good then she does not refuse that boy, then they have sex, then the next day Chamak meets that boy but he does not talk to her properly, then Chamak says what happened, why are you not talking to me, he says yes tell me what happened, Chamak says why did you talk like this, what happened, Chamak comes home crying, he does not know what happened, why is that boy doing this with her, then Chamak stays at home and she still can’t figur

After a tragic accident leaves her mute, 27-year-old writer Elara Quinn retreats to a quiet coastal town, hoping to piece her life back together in solitude. Struggling to write again and haunted by memories of her voice, she keeps the world at bay—until she meets Theo Merrick, a kind-hearted but emotionally guarded bookstore owner with his own unspoken scars.Their connection begins in silence: passing notes, shared books, and long walks by the sea. Slowly, wordlessly, Elara begins to trust again. But Theo is hiding something—a letter he never sent, a part of his past that could rewrite everything between them.Can love truly grow without words? Or will the truths they’ve both buried break them before they begin?The train hissed to a stop in the sleepy town of Dovemere, its seaside air salted and still. Elara stepped off the last carriage with a single suitcase and a notebook clutched to her chest, the pages blank.She hadn’t written a word in over six months.The town greeted her with silence, and she was grateful for it. No cameras, no pitying eyes. Just the echo of her own footsteps on cobblestone streets and the occasional cry of gulls overhead. Her new cottage sat on a cliff’s edge, where the wind could carry away memories if she let it.Inside, everything was quiet. Not just around her—but within. Her voice, once her livelihood, was now a ghost in her throat.She sat by the window that night, pen in hand, staring at the page. Nothing came.The first week passed in stillness. Elara unpacked her life into shelves and drawers, arranging books like old friends in her small seaside cottage. The air smelled of lavender and salt. Her meals were simple. Her days, quieter still. The notebook on her desk remained untouched.She wandered Dovemere’s streets early in the mornings when most people were still asleep. She walked along the beach at dusk, where the ocean whispered lullabies she couldn’t respond to. At night, she dreamt of voices she no longer had—laughter, readings at cafes, conversations she used to hold with ease.The town was polite in its distance. A few waved when she passed, sensing her quiet. The postman, a cheerful man named Edgar, left letters in her box even when none came—postcards of faraway places and blank notes with simple drawings. She never asked why. Maybe he thought she needed reminders that the world still moved beyond her silence.On the seventh day, it rained.Not a soft drizzle but a relentless, rhythmic downpour that echoed off her roof like typewriter keys. She brewed tea and opened the notebook. Her hand trembled as she touched pen to page, but again, nothing came. The words—once her sanctuary—felt foreign.Frustrated, she stepped into town under her umbrella. She didn’t plan to go anywhere in particular, just needed the rhythm of walking. That’s when she saw it: Merrick’s Books, a narrow shop tucked between a bakery and a florist.Inside, it smelled of dust, cedar, and stories. Books were stacked in deliberate chaos—towering columns, leaning shelves, titles in every language. Behind the counter sat a man with dark eyes and a worn sweater, scribbling in the margin of a paperback.He looked up, surprised to see her. His expression shifted quickly—not to pity or curiosity, but to welcome.“Hey there,” he said, his voice low and calm. “You look like someone who reads more than she talks.”Elara smiled, a small, grateful curve. She pointed to her throat and shook her head.Understanding lit his face. “Ah. Got it.” He reached beneath the counter and handed her a small chalkboard and a piece of white chalk. “House rule: everyone gets to talk here. One way or another.”She wrote, **‘First time in. This place is beautiful.’**He read it, nodding. “Thanks. I’m Theo. This place is more dust than business, but the books seem happy.”**Elara**, she wrote. She didn’t add a surname.“Nice to meet you, Elara.” He gestured to the shelves. “Wander as long as you like. There’s tea in the back if you want it.”She did. And that’s how it began.For the next few days, Elara returned to the shop. She never stayed long, just enough to browse a few shelves or exchange chalkboard messages with Theo. They spoke about books mostly—authors they loved, stories they wished had ended differently, the magic of a well-written first line.Theo never asked why she didn’t speak. He never looked at her like she was broken. And that, more than anything, made her want to stay.One afternoon, he handed her a book wrapped in brown paper. She unwrapped it to find a journal. Inside, on the first page, he’d written: **“Every word matters. Even the unwritten ones.”**She blinked fast. No one had given her something so simple and kind in a long time.She took the journal home, sat by the window, and wrote: _“Today, I began again.”_"""Days turned into weeks. Elara began filling pages again—not with stories, but with observations, dreams, and sketches of people she saw in the village. Her new journal lived beside her teacup, always open, always lis