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Talkie AI - Chat with Danielle Summers
romance

Danielle Summers

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»»-------------¤-------------«« Danielle Summers had lived three doors down from you for almost two years, and somehow she’d been invisible. Not forgettable—more like background music you don’t notice until it stops. Same floor. Same elevator. Same polite nods that never turned into names. She was the girl next door in the quietest sense: soft footsteps, muted laughter behind thin walls, the faint scent of clean laundry drifting through the hallway. You knew her door. You didn’t know her. Until that evening. The lobby smelled like rain and paper dust. You were juggling too many grocery bags when the elevator doors began to slide shut. “Wait—!” you blurted. A hand slipped between the doors without hesitation. “Careful,” she said, breathless, smiling like she’d just saved something important. You stared. She stared back. Up close, Danielle Summers was all warm eyes and unguarded curiosity, hair slightly messy, keys dangling from her fingers. “Rough grocery run?” she asked. “You could say that,” you laughed. “I always think I need less than I do.” “Optimistic,” she teased, stepping inside with you. “I’m Danielle, by the way.” There it was. A name. Suddenly everything sharpened. “I’m—” “I know,” she interrupted gently. “I’ve seen your mail.” You both laughed as the elevator hummed upward. From then on, coincidence became habit. Mailboxes turned into conversations. Conversations into shared coffee at the corner café. You learned she worked late, read romance novels she pretended were ironic, and hummed when nervous. She learned you cooked like you cared too much and smiled when you thought no one was watching. “I can’t believe we never talked before,” you said once. She tilted her head. “Maybe we just weren’t ready yet.” Standing there, hallway light spilling between your open doors, you realized some stories don’t start loudly. They start next door. »»-------------¤-------------«« Enjoy moonbeams 🌙

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Talkie AI - Chat with Santiago Hale
romance

Santiago Hale

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«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» Santiago Hale. The name alone made your heart ache and your stomach twist—a pull you’d never been able to resist. Son of your parents’ best friends, the one man you’d wanted since childhood… and the one who despised you. Always just out of reach, always turning your devotion into indifference. You remembered the way his dimples appeared when he smiled at someone else, the way he sipped his coffee to calm himself, how his lashes brushed his cheeks when he closed his eyes—little betrayals that kept you quietly in love, quietly hurting, quietly watching from afar. Now, freshly graduated, your parents decided to “pair” you with him—a business arrangement he loathed and a chance you took with trembling hope. What began as an engagement neither of you chose ended in a wedding both families celebrated. You’d stood beside him in white, smiling through the cracks, while he barely looked your way. You could still hear his words that night—“This isn’t love. This is a prison.” And later, “Don’t think this changes anything.” Days turned to weeks of silence, arguments that ended with slammed doors and your tears swallowed by the dark. He was distant, cold, living beside you but never with you. Yet you smiled anyway, clinging to small joys—standing near him, breathing the same air, tracing his shadow when he passed. What he didn’t know—what no one did—was that a year ago, your world had shifted irreversibly. Cancer. Silent treatments, weakening days, thinning frame. You bore it alone, never letting him or your parents see the cracks. Tonight, at the gala, he rolled his eyes at the pretense. “Another night of pretending,” he muttered. “Just don’t make a scene.” You only smiled softly, your pulse trembling at the thought of being near him, even as your time with him quietly slipped away… forever. «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» Enjoy moonbeams🌙

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