Surviving Gangster's Love

e writing such stories which I would want to read as a reader, and that everyone is bored of love stories anyway. I lie. I don't write romances simply because I don't know how to. Wha

realized these things do

ome are pushed into facing reality, others don't bother to go through the ordeal of love all together. I belong to the barren space between

call a match made in heaven. Austin was totally indifferent to romance, exactly the way I was. He did not want to bother with dating and finding a partner. Nor did I. I had stories to write a

ast stubborn blip of hope that was buried somewhere within. Which ignites a little every time I see an old couple hold

fairly simple thing. We just got our certificates and had a little family lunch. His family felt a bit distant, also rather indiffere

omeone enough to marry them. I did not burst her bubble, but I could sense disappointment in Papa's eyes. He ha

n eyes and thick black hair as oppose to my blond parents. It was as plain as day that I was an adopted child, but more than that, it was my father's cautiousness around me

ool. Others think that I am the weird one of the duo, but trust me, it's her. I have never had many friends and the number kept on declining as I grew up. I can never get through the double talk, pretending to like the perso

nce and more of a compromise that I had to make for my family and society at large. To be honest, it was a bit sad the

y house after marriage, which was again quite convenient for me. It would have been such a hassle to move. Specifically, when I had my working area set up

y day. It was like living with a considerate flatmate. Plus, he was a fairly clean person, so it was more than what I had asked for. In the few months that I lived with him, it was nice except for some instances,

wasn't that bad, living like that, until things turned upside down one day and I