Saquina Amaral
Stories (6)
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The Man That Paused Time . AI-Generated.
Ethan Grey was never harmonized with the world. Life's never ending demands bogged him down, and he found himself yearning for one second to catch his breath. One night, during a late working shift at his own office, lightning split the sky. The lights in his office dimmed, and in that haunting second, Ethan's life was altered irrevocably.
By Saquina Amaral2 months ago in Writers
A Love to Remember Forever . AI-Generated.
In small, sun-drenched village nestled by the edge of the sea, lived a woman named Elara. She was known for her kindness, always tending to her garden, and sharing its bounty with her neighbors. Despite the contentment she brought to others, there was a quiet loneliness in her life. The nights felt long, and the sea, though beautiful, often reminded her of something missing. One morning, as she wandered the shoreline, she spotted a man sitting by the rocks, staring at the horizon. He had a peaceful air about him, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes. Curiosity drew her closer, and without realizing it, she spoke to him. “Waiting for something?” she asked gently. The man, startled but not unkind, smiled. “I’m waiting for the wind to tell me where to go next.” Elara laughed softly. “That’s a poetic way of saying you’re lost.” He chuckled, standing and offering his hand. “I’m Kael. And yes, perhaps I am.” Over the weeks that followed, Kael stayed in the village. He spoke little of his past, but his presence brought warmth to Elara’s life. They spent their days walking along the beach, sharing stories of dreams and memories. It wasn’t long before they realized they were falling in love. But Kael had come from far away, searching for something he could not name. Though he loved Elara deeply, he felt a pull, a quiet whisper from the wind, urging him to continue his journey. He confessed his heart’s struggle to her one evening as the sun set over the water. “I love you, Elara,” he said, “but there’s something I must find before I can be at peace.” Her heart ached, but she nodded. “Then go, Kael. Find what you’re searching for, but know that I’ll be here when you return.” With a heavy heart, Kael left the village, following the wind’s call. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, but he did not return. Elara waited, her heart tethered to the promise they had shared. Seasons passed, and the village changed, but her love for Kael remained. One stormy night, as thunder rolled and lightning lit up the sky, a knock came at her door. Elara’s heart leaped, and she rushed to open it, hoping against hope. There, drenched from the rain, stood Kael. His eyes, once filled with sadness, now held the peace he had been searching for. “I found it,” he whispered, stepping into her arms. “It was you all along. You are my home.” Tears mixed with the rain on her face as she held him close. In that moment, they both knew their love was something that would last forever, a love not bound by time, distance, or the whispers of the wind. From that night on, Kael stayed. They built a life together, filled with laughter, stories, and quiet moments by the sea. And even when they grew old, their love remained as fierce and tender as it had been on that first day by the shore, a love to remember forever. THE END
By Saquina Amaral2 months ago in Writers
The Last Dream Weaver. AI-Generated.
They said it began the night the skies went silent. No thunder, no wind, no whisper of clouds, only a stillness so deep that even the stars seemed afraid to move. In that stillness, humanity lost something they didn’t know they needed: the ability to dream. At first, no one noticed. People still worked, ate, scrolled, built. But slowly, color drained from the world, ideas stopped coming, music turned mechanical, love felt rehearsed. The Dream Council told them it was an “evolutionary phase.” Those dreams were distractions, outdated mechanisms of a chaotic past. But under the cracked glass domes of the New Cities, one girl still dreamed. Her name was Kaelara. Kaelara was seventeen when she realized she was breaking the law. Not by stealing or fighting, but by closing her eyes. Every night, when the sirens dimmed and the city's electric hum fell silent, she’d slip beneath her blanket and let her mind drift. Colors would rise, vivid blues, burning golds, rivers of light, faces of people she’d never met. And when she woke, her pillow was dusted with something glowing, dreamdust, the forbidden residue of imagination. Her grandmother, once a poet before words were standardized, warned her: “Hide your dreams, Kaelara. The Council hunts what it cannot control.” But Kaelara couldn’t stop. Dreams were her oxygen. And one night, she dreamed of a forest that shouldn’t exist, luminous trees with glass leaves, rivers singing songs in forgotten tongues, and a voice whispering: “Find me before the last dawn.” The Dream Council wasn’t just a government. It was a machine, built to keep order in a world without chaos. They patrolled with drones that scanned for dream signatures. Anyone found with REM irregularities was taken to the Facility, where “recalibration” erased the last traces of imagination. Kaelara kept her head low. But one morning, as she walked through the corridor of the Institute, a figure in black armor stopped her. His visor glowed blue. “Kaelara Aven,” he said. “You have been selected for neural assessment.” Her heart froze. Dream dust clung to her fingertips. But when she looked into his visor, she saw something strange, a flicker of light, like starlight trapped behind glass. For a second, she could swear he whispered, so softly she almost imagined it: “Run.” She ran. Through neon alleys and deserted plazas until she reached the city’s edge, where the walls curved into fog. Beyond it lay the Wastelands, the zone where dreams supposedly went to die. No one returned from there. But Kaelara did not hesitate. The voice from her dream echoed again: “Find me before the last dawn.” Through the mist, she stumbled upon ruins, ancient pillars entwined with glowing vines. And at the center, a pool of silver light shimmered like liquid moonlight. She reached out. The surface rippled, and from it, a figure emerged. A man, half-shadow, half-light. His eyes were galaxies. He smiled as if he’d waited eternity for her. “You came,” he said. “Who are you?” “I am Lior, the first Dream Weaver.” Lior told her the truth. Before the Council, before the silencing, there were thousands of Dream Weavers beings who could shape the fabric of reality through imagination. They built worlds, created rainbows, healed sorrow with stories. But the rulers feared them. Dreams made people unpredictable, powerful, free. So they built the Council, created machines to drain dream energy from the sky, and erased all memory of the Weavers. Only one survived, Lior, bound inside the Dream Pool. And now his prison was fading. “Kaelara,” he said softly, “you are my echo, the last of our kind. The Dream Seed lives within you.” He placed a hand on her chest. Warmth flooded through her veins, lighting her from within. For the first time, Kaelara saw the world not as it was, but as it could be, full of color, emotion, and life. “If you awaken it,” Lior warned, “the Council will come. But if you don’t, humanity will forget what it means to feel.” They came at dawn. Armored drones tore through the mist, flooding the ruins with white light. At their center stood the Dream Warden, the same man who had once whispered, Run. “Kaelara Aven,” he said, his voice distorted. “You are charged with dream treason.” But behind his visor, his eyes burned with conflict. “Let me help you,” he whispered. “You can’t fight them all.” “Then dream with me,” she said. And for the first time in centuries, the air shimmered with something new, hope. Kaelara closed her eyes. The world trembled. The vines grew, the ruins glowed, and from her hands poured rivers of color, dreams taking form, tearing through the mechanical sky. The Council’s drones malfunctioned, their screens filling with impossible images of children laughing, oceans roaring, lovers kissing beneath constellations long forgotten. The Dream Warden fell to his knees, his visor cracking. Beneath it was a tear. “I remember,” he whispered. But the Council’s Core, the machine that powered the dreamless world, began to awaken. Alarms wailed. The sky turned crimson. Lior appeared beside her, fading. “The Core feeds on imagination,” he said. “It will destroy all that you’ve created unless you stop it.” “How?” “By giving it the one thing it cannot consume, a dream born from love.” Kaelara turned to the Warden, whose name she finally learned, Aren. “If I do this,” she said, “I may not survive.” “Then let me dream with you,” he replied. They joined hands. The Core’s storm raged above them. Kaelara closed her eyes one last time, and dreamed not of fear, but of a world reborn. Children painting skies with laughter. Old poets reciting verses under starlit trees. Music in every heartbeat. As her dream spread, the Core’s light began to flicker, then burst into a billion fragments of stardust, cascading across the sky. The Dream Returns The next morning, the world awoke to color. People cried without knowing why. Flowers grew through metal streets. Children spoke of seeing angels in their sleep. No one remembered the name Kaelara. But when they closed their eyes at night, a whisper drifted through the stars: “Dream boldly. The world lives through your dreams.” And somewhere, beyond time, in a garden of silver light. Kaelara and Lior watched over the reborn world, weaving dreams for those who had forgotten how.
By Saquina Amaral2 months ago in Writers
SPARK IN THE STORM. AI-Generated.
Helena Barbosa never believed in destiny. She believed in logic, in neatly arranged notebooks, in calendars with colour-coded reminders…and in books. Books were her comfort, her escape, her joy. Liam Carter, on the other hand, believed in chaos. His desk was always a mess, his hair always slightly wild, and his temper always three seconds away from being tested. But he, too, loved books, more than anything else in the world. The only problem? They couldn’t stand each other Helena first met Liam on a rainy afternoon at Carter & Sons Bookstore, the oldest bookshop in town, owned by the Carter family for generations. She had come to apply for a part-time job. Liam, who was reorganizing a towering stack of books, didn’t notice her standing behind him. “Excuse me,” Helena said politely. He turned, startled, knocking the whole stack over. Books rained onto the floor. “Oh great,” Liam groaned. “Another mess.” Helena arched an eyebrow. “Well, if you organized things properly” “Are you here to complain or to buy something?” She almost walked out right then. But something kept her there. A single book on the counter, Jane Eyre, her favourite. For weeks, they argued about everything. About the alphabetization of shelves. About whether classics were better than contemporary books. About who made the better coffee. But then…they discovered something. Every night after closing, Liam stayed behind and read in the quiet. So did Helena. One night, they caught each other. “What are you reading?” Helena asked, trying not to sound curious. “The Night Circus. You?” Liam replied without meeting her eyes. “The Shadow of the Wind.” They froze, two book lovers who finally saw the mirror in each other. For the first time, they smiled. Their arguments became softer. Their conversations became longer. Their laughter became familiar. Helena showed Liam how to organize the store more efficiently. Liam showed Helena rare books he had inherited, signed first editions, handwritten notes from authors long gone. Sharing books slowly turned into sharing dreams. And one evening, Liam found Helena asleep between the shelves, a book open on her chest. He covered her with his jacket. Something in him shifted. A year later, during the annual town book festival, Liam nervously approached Helena. He handed her an old leather-bound book. “I want you to have this,” he said. She opened it, and gasped. Inside was a short handwritten note from Liam: ‘Every story I read brought me closer to you. Will you help me write the rest of mine?’ Her eyes filled with tears as the crowd clapped around them. “Yes, Liam,” she whispered. “I will.” Helena and Liam married quietly in the bookshop, surrounded by shelves filled with stories that had witnessed their journey. Together they renamed the store: ✨ Helena & Carter: Books and Beyond ✨ Business flourished, not because of luck, but because of the love and passion they poured into every shelf, every recommendation, every handwritten bookmark. Two once-enemies, now partners. Two hearts, bound together by ink, paper, and fate. Every day, they wrote their story, one page, one kiss, one book at a time. Owning a bookstore together changed everything for Helena and Liam. They were partners in business, but behind closed doors, they were something much deeper…much hotter. Every evening, when the last customer left and Helena locked the front door, a certain electricity filled the air. The quiet bookstore became their world. Helena would climb the wooden ladder to reorganize a shelf, and Liam would stand below, watching the way her dress brushed her legs, the way her hair fell over her shoulder. “Careful up there,” he murmured, voice low. She glanced down at him, smirking. “I thought you liked a little danger.” He stepped closer, placing his hands lightly on her waist as she stood on the ladder. “I like you,” he whispered, “especially when you’re teasing me.” Her cheeks warmed, but her eyes held his. There was heat in them, deep and daring. Slowly, she climbed down, step by step, until their faces were close enough to feel each other’s breath. “Liam…” she began. But he kissed her before she could finish. It was not a soft kiss. It was the kind of kiss two people share when they’ve been wanting each other for a long, long time. Hungry, warm, full of fire. Helena’s fingers tangled in his hair. Liam pulled her closer, lifting her slightly, spinning her against a shelf full of romance novels. “Fitting place,” she whispered breathlessly. “Perfect place,” he replied, kissing her again. Their love grew stronger, deeper, and undeniably hotter. Sometimes, on quiet afternoons, Liam would slip behind Helena while she was writing labels for new arrivals. He would brush her hair aside and kiss the soft curve of her neck. She would shiver, leaning back into him. “Liam, the customers.” “They’re not here,” he murmured, lips trailing along her skin. Her blush alone could have lit the whole shop. Other times, Helena would surprise him. She would approach him while he was cataloguing books in the back room, take the notebook from his hands, and place it aside. “We work too much,” she’d say, stepping close, fingers slipping into the collar of his shirt. “Don’t you think?” His breath always hitched. She loved that. “I think,” he whispered, “that I’m completely addicted to you.” She kissed him, slow at first, then deeper,heat spreading through both of them like wildfire. Their love was playful. Hot. Tender. And absolutely impossible to hide. On the one-year anniversary of their bookstore, Liam surprised Helena. He closed early. Candles everywhere. Rose petals scattered across the reading area. Soft music playing. Helena stepped inside and froze. “Liam… it’s beautiful.” “No,” he said, walking toward her, voice low and warm, “you’re beautiful.” He cupped her face, kissing her with a tenderness that melted her heart and a fire that set her pulse racing. Every candle flickered as if celebrating them. They held each other for a long moment, breathing in the closeness, the heat, the love that had grown between pages and shelves. Then Liam lifted her chin with a gentle touch. “Helena,” he whispered, “I want every chapter of my life with you.” She smiled, eyes shining with emotion and desire. “Then write them with me,” she whispered back, pulling him into a kiss filled with all the passion they shared. And they did, through the night, through the fire, through every heartbeat. Their story became the hottest, sweetest book the bookstore had ever held. THE END
By Saquina Amaral2 months ago in Writers
Mother my best friend. AI-Generated.
In a quaint little town, where the sunflowers danced in the breeze and laughter echoed through the streets, lived a mother and her daughter, Lily. From the moment Lily opened her eyes to the world, her mother, Sarah, was there, a constant presence of warmth and love. Their home was filled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies and the sounds of giggles as they played in the garden.
By Saquina Amaral2 months ago in Writers
THE BOOK OF SPELLS . AI-Generated.
The sky shattered like glass. It wasn't an explosion, nor a storm , just silence as the fabric of reality cracked, revealing a swirling abyss beyond. People screamed, but their voices folded into the void, vanishing as if they had never existed.
By Saquina Amaral2 months ago in Writers
