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Hg Ss Time Turner

TËSSÃ ãñd DARÆY

I closed my eyes, shutting out his face, trying to steady myself. But I could feel it—his surprise. The way his lips stilled for a fleeting moment before moving with mine told me he didn't expect this. Not from me. "Well done Tessa. You've outdone yourself" I thought, a quiet victory blooming inside me. And then, as if understanding my message he responded. His lips softened, calling to mine, pulling me in closer. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate, more consuming, as though he'd decided to match the boldness I'd thrown his way. This was real. Too real. I gave myself a warning, a fleeting whisper in the chaos of my mind: this shit is about to get real, girl. But it was too late. The ferocious rush of adrenaline coursing through me had already taken over. Butterflies danced in my stomach, fluttering wildly like they'd been let loose from a cage. I thought butterflies only happened when too people were inlove. So why—why is my body dancing to his tune ? His touch was quick, smooth and practiced. He knew exactly how to hold me, how to make my body respond. I was caught between surprise and satisfaction, entirely swept away. Of course, he knew what he was doing. I didn't expect someone like him to be inexperienced. He carried himself like a man who'd walk this path before. If he wanted to, I had no doubt he could have taken me here and now. The thought sent thrill down my spine,but also a jolt of clarity. I wasn't ready. I couldn't loose my virginity to someone I barely knew —whose name I didn't even know. Still he made me feel so much at once. Too much. I was floating, soaring high above the world while somehow still feeling grounded. I was up in the clouds—cloud six at most, but my body wasn't my own anymore. I couldn't feel it. Couldn't control it. It was as though I traded my sanity for this fleeting, intoxicating moment. I could no longer breathe. Every time I tried to take a breathe, he'd pull me right back into the moment and I'd loose myself all over again. It was overwhelming, intoxicating. What was wrong with him? Why wasn't he stopping? It was as if he wanted more—needed more. Like he was determined to dive deeper into the kiss. To explore every uncharted corner of it. Deeper? " Is there even a way to go deeper than this ? I thought to myself, my mind spinning. He'd gone through every kind of kiss I could imagine —soft, fiery, teasing, demanding. I didn't think there was anything left for him to try. But he didn't stop. I tried to push him away, my hands trembling against his chest. But before I could, he caught my wrist, his grip firm yet gentle, pulling me back into his hold. I couldn't escape. And truthfully? I didn't want to. I liked what I was feeling. No—i loved it. It was raw, Electric, addictive. My body craved it, craved him and I didn't want it to end. I wanted more. More until I couldn't feel anything else. Untill my body didn't know where it began and where it ended. Then like a splash of cold water, the sound of voices broke through my haze. " Hey, don't you think it's enough" I froze, reality crashing in. I had completely forgotten about them —our friends. I'd forgotten about everything: where I was, what I was doing, the fact that we were standing out here in broad daylight. The world around me felt like nothing more than a tool for this moment, as if the sunlight itself was feeding into the darkness we'd created together. It had been just us—only us. And now it was over.
Black_Diamond626 · 6.2K Views

Splinters of Time

In the coastal town of **Sarween**, where the waves of the sea collide with the curse of suspended time, a legend unfolds about a man imprisoned in an endless loop of guilt and oblivion. Adham, the writer who turned his heart into a ledger of lies and ghosts, battles the demons of his memory through **stone towers** that rise from the belly of the sea like divine punishment. Here, where events are born from the womb of pain, **Yara** transforms from a lost daughter into a cosmic enigma: a child who vanishes on a crimson night, only to return as mathematical ciphers that pierce the fabric of reality. Her letters are not cries for help, but calls from parallel worlds mocking humanity’s attempts to grasp time. The **twenty towers**, numbered with the blood of victims, are not mere stone—they are open books bleeding with the wounds of a past rewriting itself. Each tower is a mirror reflecting Adham’s fractured selves: a terrified child, a guilty youth, a weary old man. The **scar above the heart** is but a fiery seal reminding him that the truth is a beast fiercer than any fiction. In this world, time is a poisoned loop: the sea spits out corpses bearing identical DNA, the **white shark** devours the dreams of the past, and shattered mirrors forge parallel universes where Yara does not die… but morphs into an idea haunting her creator. This tale is not a narrative, but a morbid dance between creator and creation. Adham, who believed writing would redeem him, discovers he authored his own prison with his hands: every sentence carved a scar, every chapter lit a candle in the darkness of his conscience. This novel is not about lost time, but about a being who builds his cage from falsified memories and battles mirrors reflecting his image as a crownless executioner. Here, in Sarween, the truth is not a victim… but a killer cloaked in martyrdom. Thus unfolds the legend of **Shards of Time**: like Narcissus gazing at his reflection in the river of memory, drinking from it until death. But here, the river is a sea that regurgitates the names of victims every night, and the mirrors do not reflect faces… they devour them.
Muntadher_Khudhur · 653 Views
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