so my parent looked me dead in the eye and said 'i am not mad, i am just disappointed.' i mean, who could blame them, after they caught me taking photos of my whole bookshelf at a weird angle for my imaginary Instagram account? what they don’t know is that the books don’t even exist. they’re just the covers taped to a wall in my garage. yeah, the whole thing is for a TikTok that has no followers. ...
Story Name: "I Thought He Was Broke, But He Was My Billionaire Test" Part 1 of 8 I step into the cramped artist studio, my heart racing with anticipation. Sunlight streams through the dusty windows, casting a golden glow on the chaos of paint-splattered canvases. There he is, Lucas, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his hands smeared with colors of every hue. “Hey, love,” I say, smiling, tryi...
Story Name: "I Thought He Was Broke, But He Was My Billionaire Test" Part 2 of 8 His eyes lock onto mine, wide with disbelief. “You were going to leave?” I swallow hard, searching for the right lie. “No! I just—“ “Just what?” he demands, stepping closer. The air crackles with tension. “Tell me the truth.” I can’t breathe. “I was worried about you, Leo. You never told me—” “Never told you what?” he interrupts, his voice rising. “That I’m not just some starving artist? That I’m worth billions?” My blood runs cold. “What? You’re kidding.” He runs a hand through his tousled hair, exasperated. “No, I’m not. It’s part of the test.” “Test?” My heart races. “What kind of test?” “It’s complicated.” He sighs, running his fingers over the canvas at his side, pretending it means something. ...
Story Name: "I Thought He Was Broke, But He Was My Billionaire Test" Part 2 of 8 His eyes lock onto mine, wide with disbelief. “You were going to leave?” I swallow hard, searching for the right lie. “No! I just—“ “Just what?” he demands, stepping closer. The air crackles with tension. “Tell me the truth.” I can’t breathe. “I was worried about you, Leo. You never told me—” “Never told you what?” he interrupts, his voice rising. “That I’m not just some starving artist? That I’m worth billions?” My blood runs cold. “What? You’re kidding.” He runs a hand through his tousled hair, exasperated. “No, I’m not. It’s part of the test.” “Test?” My heart races. “What kind of test?” “It’s complicated.” He sighs, running his fingers over the canvas at his side, pretending it means something. ...
just caught myself googling how to fold a fitted sheet like my parents always do. there are videos and blogs dedicated to this "art" while i'm here struggling, wondering if anyone would notice if i just tossed it in the closet instead. at this rate, i might as well start building an IKEA furniture fortress to hide my failures and pretend i'm living my best life.