Little cute stories
17 Cute Short Love Stories That Will Make You Smile | by Joanna
Who doesn’t love a short love story? Especially the very short love stories that can be finished during a quick break.
Since the start of human storytelling history, humans have enjoyed great romance stories from Romeo and Juliet to Helen of Troy. Even horror and adventure stories often include a romantic element. Everybody wants to feel some of that romance and reading very short romantic stories are often a great way to quench that thirst.
Whether your favorite stories are cute teen romance stories or vampire love stories, there is something for everyone.
I’ve compiled a number of love stories for you to read, all very short and can bring some of that romantic spark into your life. These are great reads whether you’re celebrating Valentine’s Day or just itching for a romantic spark.
You can find more of these romance stories on Commaful and Reddit.
The below are all excerpts with a link to the full story. Click on the link to support the writers.
If you love romance and love stories, you may also love characters and enjoy CharacterHub, a social network for sharing your characters and interacting with other people’s characters
It was a glorious, colorful autumn.
We’d just left the coffee shop. When we walked by, she had giggled and pulled me inside, saying, “C’mon, let’s be basic white girls and get some pumpkin spice!”
I don’t like coffee. I never had. But when she handed me my cup and looked into my eyes while I tried it, it was the best thing I’d ever tasted.
My hand still tingled where she grabbed it.
As we walked through the park with our drinks, a light drizzle began to fall. She pulled out an umbrella from her bag, I pulled up my hood and hunched my shoulders.
“Don’t be silly,” she giggled, pulling me under the umbrella with her. I couldn’t help but laugh too, her laugh is infectious.
As the sun started to shine again, she pulled me down to sit on a bench.
She beamed down at me, and I could only gaze back adoringly.
“So Ava…” She began. I knew this tone of voice, it’s dangerous.
“Who do you like?” She whispered, and I looked away. I wanted to say, ‘you, you, a thousand times you. You’re the only one I can ever think about. You’re gorgeous and sweet and funny and…’
Instead, I shrugged my shoulders and looked down at my cup.
She looked at me with a cautious smile. “If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?”
“Okay.” I said.
“The person I like… …is you.”
I drop my drink.
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I know you read the description.
And you expect for me to fall in love with you.
That, or you already read this story and you just want to see me suffer again.
It’s hard to see through the screen… I can’t tell one reader from another, boy or girl. Not that it would matter…
(Blushes deeply) Anyway, that’s not the point.
You should leave.
Why are you going to the next slide?
Stop doing that.
Are you always this stubborn?
I said st-
Don’t interrupt me.
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I got married when i was 20 to a man that by all accounts wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t good for me. Long story short, I was married to a loser. He didn’t necessarily do anything wrong, he just didn’t do anything at all. Now, I am not a “typical woman” if there even is such a thing. I love myself. Sure, there are things I want to improve, but I don’t have a problem with my age, or intelligence, or what my body looks like, or my personality- those things that seem to stereotypically plague women just don’t bother me for whatever reason. I have a career where I make more than enough money on my own to live comfortably. I know how to use power tools, fix my own car, and google the shit out of anything else that needs to be done. I say what I mean, and expect others to do the same, none of this passive-aggressive nonsense. But I’m stubborn as a mule, and marriages are supposed to last, so even though I was the primary breadwinner, and did most of the things around the house, and raised my kids mostly on my own, I still spent 13 years in that worthless marriage.
At the end of the day, my husband felt like I didn’t need him, because I am very capable. But he was wrong. I needed support. I needed a partner, a friend. Even someone who would see how hard I was working to just keep my head above water. I couldn’t manage EVERYTHING on my own; and I still can’t.
For some perspective at how emotionally isolated I was, I struggled with infertility for three years; I had to take tons of medications & shots that made me sick, tired, have hot flashes, body aches, and migraines for those years; not to mention the emotional drain of every month without fail seeing a single pink line on that damn stick. The emotion of going through a bulk pack of pregnancy tests, or taking photos of your cousin’s child’s first birthday (for the child they conceived after you started trying), is just… a lot to bear; I was very open with my struggles, because i think it helped other people too. Somehow, my husband wasn’t even aware this was a thing that i was needing support in.
he had no idea. and it’s not because i didn’t tell him or directly ask him. he just was that thick and lost. he was a five year old trapped as an adult- lacking the ability to give support in that way.
And once I had kids, he was actually more of a burden than a help. I spent most of my time walking on eggshells, trying to balance being exhausted from a high-demand job, making dinner, and praying the kids (who are all-around good kids) didn’t do anything to “poke the bear” while my husband played games on his phone and mostly ignored them. I spent more time trying to keep them from upsetting him than anything else.
When i finally asked him to please leave, everything improved immediately. I could breathe again. I was free of so much dead weight. I was so, so happy to just not-have-him around. It was so much better, I never looked back, and I was ok on my own. Sure, I crawled in to bed every night, feeling ready to collapse at the end of the day. Kids are demanding, after all.
But I was free. And I was happy.
But it wears on you.
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Paul stared at his wife across the table, noticing for the first time that her sweater was on inside out. Every morning he would lay out her clothes on the bed in a specific order, so she’d know which item to put on first. But it didn’t guarantee how Elaine would put on each piece. He’d have to pay more attention before they went out.
Their usual waitress, Sarah, appeared, holding a large tray with two sweet teas on it. “How y’all doin’ today?”
With Alzheimer’s disease, there were good days, and then there were challenging days. It was one of the latter. Elaine was preoccupied, scrubbing a stain on the wooden table with her finger, forgetting it was a permanent fixture of their booth. They’d been lunching at this diner once a week for years. That blemish had been there since day one.
“Today’s actually a very special day for us. It’s our fifty-seventh wedding anniversary.
” His wife stopped fidgeting and looked up. “The day she took a chance on a broke, balding fellow by saying, ‘I do,’” he said with a wink in her direction.
“It is?” Elaine asked.
“Yep, sweetheart, it is.”
“Congratulations, you two! Ms. Sue fixed up some of her key lime pie today and I’ll make sure y’all have a slice on the house before you go. Stickin’ with the Cobb salad and tomato soup?”
“That’s it.” Paul replied.
She nodded and turned, then swung back around. “I just remembered. We ran out of tomato soup about an hour ago. Chicken noodle ok?”
Paul looked at his wife, now scrubbing away at the stain with a napkin.
“Elaine?”
“Hmmm,” she said, again focused on the table.
“They’re out of the tomato soup. Do you want chicken noodle? Or a sandwich instead?” She looked confused, so he pointed to the menu and showed her a few other items he thought she’d enjoy, but she was having a hard time picking something new.
Suddenly she began to cry.
“I want to go home. Please can we go home?” she begged.
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My mother said that out of all five of her children
I was the easiest baby
I think what she meant was that I hardly cried,
Rarely fussed
And was generally asleep
Which I guess was a good thing, for her
As the fourth of five she had a lot to deal with before she could get to me
So I made it easier for her
I kept doing it as I grew up
If one of my siblings dropped their ice cream,
I’d give them mine so they’d stop making a scene
When someone had to sit in a middle seat
You can bet that’s where my car seat would be strapped
In fifth grade, when Clara Gomez stole my cookie from my lunch box
I just shrugged, and ate my carrot sticks
My nickname was “montañita”, little mountain
Because I was never moved, never bothered, always calm
In seventh grade, I broke my leg
But I didn’t tell anyone for three days
I just gritted my teeth and hopped along
Until my father found me crying on the bathroom floor
He took me to the hospital, and bought me a cast we couldn’t afford
And when the kids at school called me a cripple
Well, you can guess what I did
In high school, my little sister Sofia was getting picked on by some boys
I pretended I didn’t see it happen
But that night, I switched out her too-small uniform skirt for mine
She stopped getting teased,
And I wore pants for the rest of the year
When my college Algebra professor lost my test and made me retake it, I just nodded and did it
When I got catcalled walking across campus,
I just looked down at the ground
And you
The first day you came up to me and offered to buy me coffee
I was sure you were making fun of me too
So I stayed quiet
Eventually, you flashed me that blinding smile and told me, “Guess I’ll take that as a yes, then.
”
I think I said about three words to you that first day
But I gave you my number
And answered when you called
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The impact was jarring. Unexpected. Painful.
Not at all how it is in the movies. Nor the books. It was gross. Gritty. Raw.
His messenger bag had checked her hard in the stomach, no doubt several bruises itching to arise.
Her hot beverage stained his cream colored sweater, no doubt scalding on his bare hands.
Both umbrellas had been knocked into the dirty puddles, the sheets of rain unforgiving.
Despite the bone-chilling weather, ruined clothing, and bodily injuries, they couldn’t escape the buzzing intensity of a connection.
Her gaze was locked on the damping hair, wondering if the hue of blond was real. His gaze was pinned to her widening eyes, curious as to how many tints of blue he could identify.
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This is a story about the first year of my relationship with the girl I love.
I suppose it starts back in July 2017. She was dating my best friend at the time, they were in a relationship for a few weeks and it ended on bad terms. While they were dating I had only seen her one time, I didn’t really say much to her as I am a very shy and socially awkward person. I think I managed to get a few hellos out but nothing more than that.
The next time I met her was on the 31st of October. To be honest I don’t really remember that night much since I was black out drunk for the majority of it. By that time things seemed to be ok between her and my friend and that’s how I started talking to her more.
In late November we were all talking in group chats, online I am a lot less awkward and am able to talk to other people, so this was a great way for me to start talking to her.
As I started to become more friendly with her I started to realise that she’s not how my best friend made her out to be at all.
We started to hang out more, and the more time I spent with her the closer I felt to her.
There are quite a few people in our friends group, I couldn’t quite explain why. But I felt like I had some sort of bond with her, like I could connect with her in a way that I couldn’t with the other people. Usually I hate it when people hug me, but when she did it always felt warm and comforting.
Where our relationship progressed was on new years eve, I had one of my depressive episodes and ended up leaving all of the group chats I was in. At the time I just felt really lonely, as if I’m destined to never be happy.
She ended up private messaging me, asking what was wrong and why I was feeling like that. There’s only a few people that know how much of a shit show my childhood was, I felt comfortable with talking about it with her. And she seemed to have the perfect response to everything. After a while I felt a little better about myself and I will never forget some of the things that she said to me that night.
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I thought I’d had crushes before
There was Carson, who smiled at me in bio
There was Avery, with the beautiful eyes
But this girl
God, it’s like it’s not even the same emotion
I really thought I liked the others, I did
I’d blush when they were nearby,
Sit up straighter,
Toss my hair,
Get nervous,
But this girl takes butterflies to a whole new level
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Her eyes, oh her eyes.
They got me every time.
They could never be classified as one color. They rebelled, taking on a different hue everyday. Every hour. Every moment. But they always sparkled with this emotion I could never place.
His smile, oh his smile. It zapped my heart every time.
His smile was something never to be taken for granted. He rarely showed it around people, but when he did, oh it was magic. The slight dimple in his cheek revealed his boyish nature.
But they always drifted from one another.
The timing never right. One was in a relationship. The other fresh out of one. Both single, but not ready to mingle. Or they would mingle, but with the wrong people. It was like this for years.
Until this.
It was snowing.
Her car was covered in the hardening white powder. She stared, hopeless. How could she get to work in this condition? A light flurry of snow falls from the sky, wetting her hood.
She sighs, holding a hand out.
A snowflake lands on her hand, almost immediately melting against her warm palm.
A smile tilts her lips, her tardiness to the office momentarily taking a back seat.
He watches her, his unprotected hair catching snowflakes.
He had come here to break up with his girlfriend, who’s name he’d already forgotten. He didn’t know she had lived so close to her. Annalise. The one woman he could never have.
At her surprised appearance, he’d dropped his keys.
With his gaze still on her, he crouched down, fumbling in the cold snow for his car keys. But after stubbing his finger, he risks a glance down, swiping them up.
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*phone call *
Boy: Hey, hun!
Girl: Hey.
Boy: I missed you at school today. Why weren’t you there?
Girl: Yeah, I had to go to the doctor.
Boy: Oh really? Why?
Girl: Oh, nothing. Just some annual shots, that’s all.
Boy: Oh.
Girl: So what did you guys do in Math today?
Boy: You didn’t miss anything that great, just a lot of notes.
Girl: Okay, good.
Boy: Yeah.
Girl: Hey, I have a question to ask.
Boy: Okay, ask away.
Girl: How much do you love me?
Boy: You know I love you more than anything in this world.
Girl: Yeah.
Boy: Why did you ask?
Girl: *silence*
Boy: Is something wrong?
Girl: No. Nothing at all. Um. How much do you care about me?
Boy: I would give you the world in a heartbeat if I could.
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Some people like to say “everything happens for a reason.”
But I think that’s bullshit.
Was there a reason the love of my life died in a car crash at 23?
I didn’t think so. I told you. Bullshit.
Eric and I were the type of couple that beat all the odds.
We made it through long distance. We made it through moving cities. We made it through the death of his mom. Through all the change, our love was one constant I could rely on.
Our routine used to go like this;
I’d wake up at 6:45 in our shitty little bed in our shitty little apartment in NYC.
He’d already be up, of course. He’s an early bird.
I used to hate mornings.
I could hardly drag myself out of bed to the smell of the breakfast he was making me.
Now I stumble out of bed right away. There’s no use trying to stay longer in a cold, empty bed, all by myself.
I’d go to work, be home around 5:00.
Eric didn’t get home until 6:00, so I’d make dinner.
Lasagna was his favorite. I always complained about how much work it was and didn’t make it enough.
If he was still here I’d make lasagna every night.
After dinner, we’d watch TV, or play video games, or read our books. Always in the same room.
Sometimes we wouldn’t do anything, just sit and talk for hours. Eric was always great to talk to.
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This is the story that changed my life. The best way to explain it is from the begining.
I was 15. I had an anxiety attack. I was growing up and was home schooled due to some previous issues with traditional schools.
My mom and my late uncle (I miss you, uncle Bob) took me to the hospital. I remember ripping my ID bracelet off more than a couple times because I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t know it at the time but I needed help. This is the story of the rest of my life.
I spent 11 days in a children’s mental ward named P78. I met quite a few friends there and during my home schooling that helped shape my story. Little did they know at the time how much they would affect me.
I need to backtrack a little bit for this to make sense. The friends I met during home school would always talk to me about this girl they knew that nicknamed “dictionary” because she was so smart. They always tried to get us to meet but it never worked out. We were both a bit annoyed at their attempts so eventually they tried to trick us into meeting. I was brought to her house a few times but she was “never home”. In reality she was antisocial and just didn’t want to meet with people. They called her on the phone and had me speak with her a few times.
Again, we were a bit annoyed at their attempts. Shortly after this is when I was admitted to the hospital.
A doctor at the ward recommended a school, Eleanor Gerson high school. It’s a school for troubled teens. It’s for kids who have mental issues that may give them trouble in normal schools. My first year went off normally. I made friends, got good grades, and was generally happy. In my second year I met her.
Flash forward to Freshman orientation of what ended up as my junior year. We were going through meeting the new kids with everyone introducing themselves and giving a bit of history of who they are. I saw her there. She had long black hair and was dressed in what at the time was the latest gear from Hot Topic. My buddy (who will not be named just like most others in this story won’t be) recognized her. He had me mention a mutual friend of him and the girl to help break the ice.
A couple days later on the bus ride home from school, I asked her what she thought of her first few days.
I got a cold response along the lines of “I just got here, how can I have an opinion?” She tried to push me away but it was too late, I was already smitten. A couple months later she came with me to get myself a new pair of glasses. I was feeling bold and told her flat out “you’re my girlfriend now”.
Over the next couple of years we had a few ups and downs but stayed together for the most part. That is until she wrote me a letter. Her own past and insecurities were getting in the way of us being a “normal” couple. She needed to break it off to clear her mind.
I was devistated, but I had to move on. I was taking college prep classes and eventually had enough credits to only be coming to school a couple days a week. We saw each other less and less.
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Butter
Sugar
Flour
A pinch of cinnamon
“It looks delicious baby”
I turned around to see my husband behind me
“What are you making today?”
I smiled and pointed to the recipe on the counter
“Cinnamon bread? You spoil me”
I smiled again, and he placed a kiss on my bare shoulder
“How much longer do you have on these?”
I glanced at the clock, doing the math in my head
I held up 10 fingers
“Alright, I suppose I can wait”
I cocked my head at him, raising an eyebrow
“No, no, I’ll wait till you’re done.
Finish your bread.”
I shook my head at him fondly, pouring the batter into the tin
“Hey”
I looked back at him
“You’re pretty”
I rolled my eyes, sprinkling the crumb topping over the batter
As soon as I placed the tin in the oven, I felt his arms wrapping around me
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The clock had long ago struck twelve, and Captain Damien Rathbourne, Earl of Coulter, had developed a ferocious itch in his left leg. As that leg had been amputated over a year ago, he had no choice but to suffer in discomfort. The itch, of course, was the least of his pains. Tonight, the small things festered: women fastidiously avoided his eyes; conversations politely fixed on the weather rather than his health.
Half-foxed and wholeheartedly tired, he longed to leave. And yet at this late hour, guests still arrived. The latest announcement — Countess Something-or-Other — was a disaster. Her orange hair was twisted into a careless bun from which strands were already escaping.
Her gown was outmoded, and her figure leaned towards chubby. As she walked down the stairs into the ballroom, she slipped on a step, and crashed into a gentleman. A ghastly silence swept the ball; a woman tittered.
“Unbelievable,” Damien muttered to himself.
Lord Darby, who stood near him, cast him a shocked look. “Countess Fraser? She’s a goddess.”
Damien’s gaze flicked back to the Countess. She had picked herself off the floor and appeared to be apologizing, her hands gesturing animatedly. She didn’t seem to be a beauty. “If you think so, you shouldn’t have much competition for her.”
“Are you mad? Countess Fraser could have her pick of any man.”
“She’s an Incomparable?” Damien was dubious.
““Course not,” Darby remonstrated. “I can compare her to loads of girls. She just comes out on top, is all.”
“She’s an Original, then.”
Darby waved his hand in denial. “No. Originals are all alike — snooty girls who think that wit and insult are synonymous.
”
“Well-dowered?”
“Penniless, if rumor holds true.”
“Blue-blooded?”
“Before she married the now-departed Count Fraser, her people were nobodies.”
“Connected to the grand dames of London society?”
“So far as I can see, the women all hate her.”
“She’s a goddess?” Damien frowned dubiously.
“A goddess.” Darby affirmed. “Not Aphrodite, of course. But a goddess of little things gone right. You can’t understand unless you meet her.”
Damien shifted his weight from one crutch to the other. After Vitoria, it was as if his human interactions had been amputated along with his leg. His cohort stopped speaking to him of sport and war, and gradually withdrew from him altogether. Damien was suddenly furious with the purported goddess. He had everything but his leg, and yet could find no one. This mysterious woman had nothing and yet charmed everyone. He suddenly wanted to prove that she was like every other girl at the ball. She would be wretched. Conniving.
And above all, she would be unable to meet his eyes.
“Well,” he said, striving to hide his anger. “Why don’t you introduce me then?”
Damien felt every eye in the ballroom carefully choose to look in another direction as he crutched his way across the ballroom. He could move at a reasonable clip; Darby barely had to slow his pace. The little things, however, irritated. Young maidens magically waved to friends across the room as they registered his direction; they dashed away lest he should corner them. Men fixed their gaze on some far away point. Damien gritted his teeth and clumped along.
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Her hair swayed in the breeze, tickling the back of her neck
She was lounging in the hammock, under the tall beach tree
I could only see her back from where I was standing, but by the curvature of her neck I guessed she was reading
It had been 175 days since I’d last seen my wife
And now I was frozen, unable to move
She looked so peaceful, so beautiful
So soft and distinctly different from the active war zone I’d just left
And she didn’t know I was home
-Layla-
I spent most of my evenings in the hammock, enjoying the late August sun
Today I was reading, but sometimes I’d knit, or draw, or just watch the birds
I was trying to take my mind off the fact that it was my second wedding anniversary today, and I had no wife to spend it with
But all of a sudden I head a sound behind me, and turned my head
“Jasmine!” I cried, all but falling out of the hammock
She gave me the biggest grin I’d ever seen as she ran to steady me
I threw my arms around her, burying my face in her neck
And I started to sob with relief
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The voices and footsteps from the stage echoed back into the wings, and the familiar nervous exhilaration prickled across Lainie’s skin, raising goosebumps on her bare forearms and rousing butterflies beneath the tight lacing of her gown.
She had thoroughly enjoyed her television work this past year, but she’d missed the visceral, bone-deep thrill of theatre. There was nothing quite like performing live.
She inserted the tip of her little finger beneath a ribbon and pulled hard. The Jacobean corsetry, however, she could do without. Her 1920s costumes for Knightsbridge might be hellishly unflattering on anyone with hips, but they didn’t squeeze her internal organs.
A burst of laughter from the audience eased a fraction of the tension from her neck and back. When the crowd was having a good time, and was generous in showing it, the energy was infectious.
It was still surreal that she was standing here, surrounded by so much history that the walls seemed to resonate with words and nerves and ghosts.
She wasn’t kidding herself. She’d been offered this festival role so the public could pay to watch her publicly insult and snog her husband, not because the director had watched her jiggling through the Charleston on telly and been struck with the vision of his ideal Beatrice, but whatever.
She hadn’t been about to turn down the most famous theatre in London. And Much Ado About Nothing was one of her favourite plays, so it checked off two career goals in one contract.
Although it might have been better if the production team had picked one of Shakespeare’s bloody, violent tragedies for the gala run. Pressing her palm against the wooden beam next to her, Lainie leaned her cheek against her hand and listened to the faint strains of the deep cadence of Richard’s voice. The butterfly wings beat harder.
He really was a brilliant actor.
Inspiring to every other performer on the stage.
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They said that first kisses are special…
And they are for that certain special person
Yes… it is… but I lost it to someone…
To someone… who is not to “special” to me
I lost it to that certain bad boy…
To a boy named Jake… but he prefered to be called as Jax
He was an egotistic, conceited playboy slash bad boy
And if you’re asking on how I lost it?
His friend playfully pushed him to me…
And after a split second… our lips touched.
They said that when you have had experienced your first kiss
You’ll feel the butterflies fluttering, the sparks flashing. But I felt nothing… as if it wasn’t anything special….
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— — —
I read too many romance stories to count as it is my favorite genre. If you enjoyed these, I’d recommend checking out these links: Commaful and Reddit.
4 Short Bedtime Stories Your Kids Will Love
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Need some new 5-minute bedtime stories? Your kids will love these.
There’s a puppy who needs a name, animals who become unlikely friends in a forest, a chipmunk who is judged for his looks and a mischievous girl who visits her granny.
These short bedtime stories are great for building young kids’ listening skills.
Puppy Dreams
Written by Becky Ross Michael
Illustrated by Dragana Stankovic
Dad walked into the kitchen, followed by the scent of a cool autumn afternoon.
He placed bags of groceries on the counter, which Mom started to unload. “Yum,” she said, “this will be great for dinner.”
Sister checked the bags, hoping for a special treat. But Brother stood still as stone, gazing at his father. “Um, Dad…why’s your jacket moving like that?”
With a smile, Dad unzipped his coat. Nestled in the pocket of his shirt lay a little, black creature. Speechless at first, everyone stared.
“You didn’t,” Mom finally said.
“A puppy?” guessed Brother.
Dad lifted the wiggly mass of fur from his pocket and set it on the dark kitchen rug.
“Oooh!” yelled Sister in delight. At the sound of her loud voice, the tiny animal froze.
“I think you’ve scared him,” said Mom, reaching to pick up the small dog. As she did, a patch of wet rug was revealed from underneath him.
“Oops,” Dad said. “He had a boo-boo on the floor. Looks like we’ve got some potty training to do. I couldn’t resist. Someone was selling puppies from the back of their pickup outside the store.
It was either that or off to the shelter. When I walked over, this little guy practically jumped into my arms.”
“I can just imagine,” Mom said with a grin.
“What’s his name?” Brother asked.
“That’s for you and your sister to figure out.”
The afternoon passed in a whirl of fun. Mom set up a feeding and watering area in the kitchen. Dad placed a comfortable, new pet bed in a corner of the living room. They all took turns guiding the puppy outside to avoid more potty accidents.
“Chester might be a good name,” suggested Mom, while they watched the puppy nap.
“Blackie would fit him because of his color,” Brother said.
“When I was a kid, we had a dog named Roamer,” said Dad. “Maybe that could be his name.”
“Not sure,” said Sister. The puppy yipped. “I’ll take him outside this time, while I’m thinking about a good name.”
***
“Time for bed,” Mom later announced. The sky had turned dark, and the children were yawning.
“What about the puppy?” Brother asked.
“Can he sleep with me?”
“No, meee!” pleaded Sister.
“I didn’t get him a crate for sleeping yet,” Dad said. “But I don’t think this guy should be on the loose during the night. Too many chances for accidents.”
“That’s for sure,” agreed Mom. “There’s a big, empty box in the garage. It would be open on the top for air, but he wouldn’t be free to wander around the house. The living room is the warmest, so we can set it up right here.”
Disappointed, the children agreed and wandered off to get ready for bed.
***
Mom and Dad awoke in the morning, surprised they had slept all night through, without interruption. Creeping down the stairs followed by Brother, they discovered how that had happened. Sister lay on the living room carpet with her head on the pet bed next to the puppy. Both stirred when the others came into the room.
“I heard him crying,” explained Sister with a sleepy smile. “So I took him from the box for a snuggle. And I just had a dream about his name,” she added.
“You dreamed a name for him?” asked Brother.
“Well, I was dreaming about yesterday. In my dream, I heard Dad saying the puppy had a ‘boo-boo’ on the floor. Don’t you see? That’s his name!” she declared, looking back and forth at their faces. “He’s Boo-Boo!”
The dog let out a happy, little yip. And “Boo-Boo” he was, from that day forward!
Friends in the Forest
Written by Becky Ross Michael
Illustrated by Dragana Stankovic
A tear slipped from Rosie the red fox cub’s eye. She tried to ignore it, as she walked lightly on her toes toward the family den. Mama fox heard Rosie and moved toward the entrance.
“Why so sad, Rosie?” her mother asked. “You’re usually happy when you return from chasing grasshoppers in the field with your fox friend, Scarlet.”
“Oh, Mama,” Rosie wailed. “She just told me the news! Scarlet and her family are moving to a different part of the forest to live by her grandma and grandpa. I may never see her again!” More tears filled Rosie’s eyes.
“I understand why you’re upset. But you’ll find a new friend before you know it,” her mother assured. “Now, come share some berries for dinner.”
***
The next day, Rosie decided to find a new friend. “Don’t go near the water, beyond the edge of the marsh,” warned her mother.
Catching sight of a grasshopper, Rosie moved quickly across the open field. While chasing and swatting at the insect, she came chin to chin with Russet, another red fox.
“Will you be my new best friend?” asked Rosie, swinging her bushy tail.
“I would, but I already have a best friend,” Russet answered, walking away.
Disappointed, Rosie moved toward the trees. Approaching a hollowed-out log, she saw Looney Raccoon, fast asleep. She gave him a nudge with a black-tipped paw. “Looney, will you be my new best friend?”
The raccoon yawned. “Go away; I’m trying to sleep. And no, I will not. I already have a best friend.”
So Rosie moved further into the trees, soon catching sight of Roberta Rabbit hopping along the trail.
“Wait up,” called Rosie, but the rabbit continued to scamper. “Will you be my new best friend?” The rabbit stopped and twitched her nose.
“I already have a best friend,” Roberta said, turning to hop away.
Not ready to give up, Rosie the red fox moved toward the edge of the marsh. All of a sudden, she stopped and pricked up her ears at the sounds of moving leaves from above. Lifting her nose, Rosie saw Squiggy the black squirrel.
“Hellooo!” she called into the branches. “Will you be my new best friend?”
“Thanks for asking, but I already have a best friend,” he chattered.
Another animal hidden in the bushes listened and watched Rosie as she hung her head and walked to the edge of the marsh.
Blinded by tears, Rosie forgot to be careful about where she was stepping. Without warning, one of her black feet slipped into the water. Splash! Rosie suddenly wished she had paid more attention when Mama tried teaching her to swim. With four legs flailing this way and that, Rosie struggled to reach solid ground.
Unexpectedly, she felt something grab the scruff of her neck, pulling her from the murky water.
“Who’s that?” cried Rosie, shaking water from her red fur. When her eyes finally cleared, she was surprised to see a gray fox cub.
“Are you okay?” the gray fox asked Rosie.
“Yes, and thanks for the help. I really need to practice my swimming.”
“I can assist with that. My name’s Pearl, and maybe I could be your new best friend.”
Rosie stared in surprise. “Gray foxes don’t usually like red foxes,” she said.
“My parents taught me to give everyone a chance,” Pearl answered. “So what if my coloring is different than yours and I’ll stay a bit smaller than you when I’m all grown up. What difference does any of that make?”
“You’re right!” answered Rosie. “I never really thought of it that way. I’d love for us to be best friends. Now, let’s go chase some grasshoppers!”
Sulky and Stubby
Written by Becky Ross Michael
Illustrated by Dragana Stankovic
From where he sat on a tree, the lone chipmunk watched animals moving around below.
Sulky the chipmunk was searching for others with handsome stripes just like his own. But he didn’t see anyone who looked exactly like his reflection in the still waters of the pond.
That’s okay, Sulky thought. At least I’ve found some cousins. And he ran down the tree to join them.
Skittering along the path, Sulky first spotted a ground squirrel. She wore dark brown and tan stripes along her sleek brown back. “Hello!” greeted Sulky. “I’m happy to meet you, cousin!”
“You don’t look it,” grumped the ground squirrel. “No wonder they call you Sulky. You don’t appear very friendly with all those dark stripes on your face. You look rather mean.” And the ground squirrel scurried farther into the woods.
Does my striped face look mean? wondered Sulky. Surely, his other cousins would feel differently! He scampered away and soon met a groundhog.
“Hello!” said Sulky. “I’m happy to meet you.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” said the dull brown groundhog. “You look anything but happy.
”
“Really? I feel glad. And we’re cousins, you know,” the chipmunk pointed out.
“That may be, but I want nothing to do with you,” grouched the groundhog, waddling away.
Suddenly, something stirred up ahead. Sulky caught sight of a wispy red squirrel’s tail. “Hello,” said the hopeful chipmunk. “I’m happy to meet you.”
“I wouldn’t have known it by looking at you,” sassed the squirrel. “If you want to be friendly, you need to look the part.”
“But this is just how I look on the outside,” cried Sulky. “My face has nothing to do with what I think and feel. Besides, we’re cousins.”
“Doesn’t matter,” answered the red squirrel. “I spend time with those who look much nicer than you.”
With drooping ears, Sulky the chipmunk headed toward his burrow.
As he walked, an acorn caught Sulky’s eye. Guess I’ll take it home to eat later, he thought. As he reached for the nut, Sulky came nose-to-nose with another animal. Hesitating, he pulled back a bit to examine this new arrival.
Light stripes decorated his face. And he was marked with dark stripes along his brown back and tai…wait a minute. Where was the rest of his tail???
“I know exactly what you’re thinking,” chattered the other chipmunk. “What happened to him…am I right? They call me ‘Stubby’ because I lost part of my tail in an accident when I was just a little kit.”
“Oh, I didn’t notice,” answered Sulky.
“Thanks for your kindness, but it’s the very first thing everyone sees. Then they get embarrassed and don’t even try getting to know me.”
“I understand perfectly. My cousins don’t like these dark stripes on my face. They say I look mean and call me ‘Sulky.’”
“Looks aren’t important,” said Stubby. “How we act should be what matters most.”
“That’s right!” Sulky agreed. “And you can have this acorn. I think you probably arrived one paw-length before I reached it.”
“So polite of you,” Stubby said, with a swish of his short tail. “But here’s a thought. Let’s work together and gather acorns for both our homes.
”
“Great idea!” answered Sulky, with happy eyes.
The two chipmunks scurried about, filling their cheeks with acorns. Along the way, they also found time to race and play. They smiled beneath twitching whiskers when their cousins asked to join in the games!
Family Fireworks
Written by Becky Ross Michael
Illustrated by Dragana Stankovic
DING said the elevator as Ella, Rae Ann, and Mom arrived on the second floor. After the door slid open, they walked down the hallway toward Grandma’s apartment.
“I love your new place!” said Ella.
“Thanks,” Grandma answered. “And we can watch the fireworks from my balcony or go downstairs after they get started.”
“Okay,” said Mom. “It will be a while before dark.”
“Could I play your piano while we’re waiting?” asked Rae Ann, the younger sister.
“Sure,” said Grandma, leading her into the next room.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Ella said.
Mom pointed down the hallway.
In the bathroom, Ella looked around.
She knew better than to touch anything dangerous, like sharp things or medicines. Ella just wanted to peek in some of Grandma’s cabinets. She flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and quietly opened a drawer. After squirting a touch of scented lotion on her hands, Ella rubbed them together. I sure hope they don’t notice the smell!
Rae Ann was playing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” on the piano. Mom and Grandma chatted in the living room.
Quiet as a mouse, Ella opened another drawer. She found a hairdryer and curling irons of various sizes. Moving those aside, Ella discovered several kinds of hairbrushes. She picked up a narrow, rounded brush and gazed into the mirror over the sink. Maybe I could get my hair to curl a bit.
Imagining how Grandma might use it, she twirled the brush through the straight ends of her fine hair.
What? Oh, no! Somehow, the brush had become tangled in her long hair. In alarm, Ella pulled harder, twisting the brush this way and that, only making things worse.
“Ella, let’s go,” said Mom through the door. “We’ve decided to watch the fireworks from downstairs.”
“Just a minute,” said Ella. She pulled at the hairbrush until her head hurt. In the mirror, she saw bright red cheeks and alarmed eyes.
“Now!” demanded Mom.
Gulping tears, Ella entered the living room with the brush dangling from her hair. “It’s stuck…”
“No!” Mom shrieked. “You were bald until you were three and can’t afford to lose any of that hair!”
Rae Ann giggled. A look of concern filled Grandma’s eyes.
“Come here,” Mom ordered. “Let me see if I can get that out.” Her hands shook as she worked on Ella’s tangled locks.
“No, I can’t get it,” said Mom. “Ella, I can’t believe you did this. We might have to cut your hair. And we’re going to be late for the fireworks show.”
“Here, let me try,” Grandma said in a calm voice. She led Ella back into the bathroom and closed the door. Grandma worked slowly, releasing a few strands at a time.
“Wow, your hair is sure twisted around this. From now on, please ask before using my things, okay?”
“I will,” answered Ella.
“There’s just this one little clump that’s too snarled. I’d rather trim it off than break the hairs.” Grandma reached into the cabinet for small scissors. SNIP, SNIP.
“There we go. You’re all set.”
***
Ella’s head tingled. It could have been from all the excitement in the air. Most likely, she had a sore scalp from all that tugging!
The outdoors was still and warm. Cicadas sang in the distance. The dark sky exploded with light.
“Ooh,” said Grandma, “that was beautiful!” Minutes later, “Aah,” Grandma remarked, “that one was even better.”
Color, noise, and energy surrounded the family. Ella looked Grandma’s way, and they shared a secret smile.
I hope you’ve enjoyed these short bedtime stories for kids. For the printable version, download the printables set at the end of the post.
About the author:
Becky is a former preschool director and elementary teacher, who grew up and then raised her own family in Michigan.
She now gardens and works on her sunny balcony in North Texas. Writing for kids and adults, her pieces appear in magazines, anthologies, blogs (she is a regular writer for Empowered Parents), and children’s readers. In addition, she enjoys the challenge of working as a freelance editor. Visit the author at her personal blog, Platform Number 4.
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cozy stories for the night • Articles on the website of the publishing house BOMBOR
- Articles
- January 13, 2021
Sleepy tales for adults: three stories to help you fall asleep.
More interesting things below
This story began when Katherine Nicolai, a 17-year yoga teacher from Michigan, noticed that daily bedtime stories helped her cope with her insomnia. Katherine created the Nothing Much Happens podcast with bedtime stories for herself and her friends. And hit the "bull's eye": the podcast became incredibly successful. Listeners from all over the world wrote thanks for the fact that for the first time in many years they slept through the night, without sleeping pills and nightmares.
Katherine's years of experience in yoga and meditation helps her seamlessly blend storytelling with brain training techniques. She knows how to relax the body, how to help the brain build new sleep habits, and how to make being awake as pleasant and serene as sleeping.
We have selected for you 3 cozy stories from Katherine Nikolay's book "Nothing Special Happens" that will help you sleep soundly and, most importantly, get enough sleep.
The instructions are simple: get as comfortable as possible in bed. You will go to the usual friendly place with a cute coffee shop and a small library where the seasons change, and at the local market you can slowly choose spicy herbs and fragrant pears for a birthday cake.
Inhale deeply through your nose and exhale through your mouth. And repeat. Inhale and exhale. Okay, let's start
The first story. Blizzard
The day before we were warned that it would snow all night and all the next day. They said they'd sweep up driveways and lanes, fields and intersections, and that it's best to stay safe at home. We agreed. The whole area and the whole town. Everyone supported this decision. Today we got hit by a snow storm.
I lay in bed in the dead silence of the early morning, thinking of the snow that had covered the ground like a thick blanket, lying on bare tree branches, on the roof above my head, and on everything else you could imagine.
I didn't move after waking up, I just felt my hands relaxed and warm under the covers, and I thought about how good it was to be a snowy day, and how wonderful it was to know that from last night. I slept soundly and woke up not remembering dreams, feeling that today everything would start from scratch. She slipped her feet into the slippers by the bed, pulled on a long thick sweater, and went to the window. She slowly pushed back the curtain and enjoyed a small spark of anticipation in her stomach as she looked at the snow-covered ground.
There used to be a lot of snow too. I have seen this a thousand times, reliving the same moment since childhood, how in the morning after a heavy snowfall I stand in my pajamas, pressing my nose against the cold window pane, but to this day it causes me admiration.
The morning light was faint and cast long shadows on the drifts, catching still-falling flakes in its smooth flight, and showing the crisp, untouched surface of the snow that covered the ground outside my old farmhouse.
I lingered there for a moment, just watching the falling snow, shielding myself from the cold outside with my hands. Enjoyed a gift from mother nature.
As a child, snowy days were associated with excitement and running around with cups of chocolate to the warm kitchen and back. For adults, such days bring relief. You are forced to relax, no one expects anything from you.
In a hectic world that sometimes moves too fast, this respite is great medicine. I stocked up on everything I needed the night before: a pound of fresh coffee beans, a long loaf of bread for sandwiches and toast, a bag of muffins and muffins, a bag of winter oranges and grapefruit.
In the fridge was a jug of fresh juice and a huge pile of green vegetables, and in the pantry were neat rows of homemade canned tomatoes and pickles, jars of beans, bags of rice, bags of crackers and pasta. I looked out the kitchen window and told the snow, "Keep falling, I've got enough for a few weeks."
I started making coffee, rummaged through the cupcakes, broke off the corner of one and ate it.
“If you are going to do this,” I thought, “then you have to do everything right,” and pulled out a waffle iron from the sideboard. After all, that was part of enjoying the snowy day.
There is finally time to do things that you normally don't, and there's no reason to avoid them. I poured a cup of coffee, took the right ingredients from the shelves and began to mix and beat them, heating the waffle iron. She settled down at the kitchen table with her favorite plate, napkin and fork. I had a flashback of what my aunt did when we were little. She had a special plate in her closet, painted gold in an old fashioned way and didn't match anything else. And, if you did well in an exam, or you had a birthday, or a bad day and you just needed to feel special and cared for, your aunt put her in your place.
When you sat down, you stood a little taller and felt her warm hand on your shoulder. And dinner turned into a delight.
This memory kept me warm as I poured batter into a hot waffle iron.
It hissed, filling the kitchen with aroma, and I smiled. With pancakes and waffles, the rule of three always applies. Don't overcook the first, burn the second, and the third will be perfect.
When the plate was full, I sat with a cup of fresh coffee and a warm jug of maple syrup, enjoying my breakfast, watching the snow fall. I peeled the orange and ate the slices slowly between sips, setting the rind aside, thinking I'd add it later to a simmering pot with cinnamon sticks, vanilla and a couple of cloves. Let it simmer all day to fill the house with a sweet aroma and soften the dry air with steam. I rinsed my plate, tidied up the kitchen and began to walk from window to window, looking out into the street.
In the evening I brought firewood and put it in the fireplace: now it was ready to give warmth. She lit a long match and held it up to the paper and kindling, watching it burn. She added a few crumpled newspapers to the fire and squatted by the fire for a couple of minutes until her face and fingers warmed up.
Now the wind was blowing and I watched small swirling spirals of snow appear and disappear in the air. Maybe later I'll pack up and go for a long walk through the fields and woods, and then reward myself with a cup of something hot; but now I was not going to leave my cozy place. I imagined laying out a puzzle on the table and thinking about it while a movie was playing in the background, or reading for hours, or lying in a hot bath until the skin on my fingers wrinkled.
But first, having had my fill after breakfast and warming up by the fireplace, I stretched out on the sofa, covered my legs with a warm blanket, and felt that it would be best to close my eyes, listen to the crackling of logs, and forget myself in a long winter sleep.
Sweet dreams.
Second story. Night outside with a dog
I heard the soft rustle of dog paws when my pet stopped by the bed. My ears were already programmed for it. I heard him sigh at night or toss and turn in bed.
And when he got up and quietly stood next to me, I heard it too. He is already an old dog with a gray muzzle, and his movements are slow and careful.
Our walks got a little shorter, but today he saw a squirrel running along the pavement and suddenly found some youthful canine energy in his limbs. He pulled me along, following the path. Fortunately, the squirrel was not caught, but he enjoyed the chase. He barked as she ran up the tree and teased him with the language of little animals who know how fast they are. I stroked his head and told him that he tried his best. Shouldn't we go to the park? I reached out to put my hand on it and lowered my feet to the floor, sleepy but understanding.
As he got older, he sometimes had to leave the house in the middle of the night. I didn't mind at all, wrapped myself in a dressing gown, slipped my feet into my slippers, and we went down the stairs to the backyard. Most of the time, I just let it out and came back a few minutes later, but as I opened the door this time, I felt something in the smell of the air pull me outside.
It was pitch dark, deep night, about three o'clock. There came those weeks when the weather tossed between autumn and winter.
The cold air opened my eyes and I lifted them up to see a clear sky lit by stars and a moon that was barely more than half visible. Growing moon, I thought. After the dog returned to me, we stood very still and just listened. Summer nights are filled with the buzzing of beetles, the croaking of frogs, and some unreasonable buzzing that comes from nowhere and is simply present in the air. Maybe it's the fecundity of growing, swaying plants, or just the trace of life left after a day in the sun, but it certainly sounds loud.
There is a special sound that can only be heard in the middle of the night just before winter, a shocking silence. Not a single car passed by, no one was visible except us, and only the faint rustle of a very light wind stirred in the bare branches high above us. The earth was asleep, its creatures curled up in their burrows, preparing for the new season.
The bulbs were deep under mulch and dirt, only dreaming now of the vibrant pinks, purples and yellows they would turn into in spring. We stood still for a while, and I let the cold air tingle my fingers and move up my neck, knowing that I would soon be back in a warm bed.
I took a few very deep breaths, and under the spicy scent of dry leaves, something clean and clear appeared in the air. I thought it might be snow. Tomorrow these clear skies may be thick with clouds. And if we get up again in the middle of the night, which we most likely will, we will be standing under the first falling flakes.
I leaned over and slowly kissed my old man on the top of his head, and then we turned and walked back into the house. He stopped to drink water. I drank too and slowly walked up the stairs back to the bedroom. He turned a few times and sat down on the large soft cushion. I covered the dog with a blanket and tucked it in from all sides. In a few seconds he will be asleep. We should all learn this from dogs: they can go from awake to deep sleep instantly and wake up just as easily.
I took off my bathrobe and slippers and pulled back the heavy blanket on the bed, slipped onto the sheets and straightened the covers. I felt the cold gradually leave my body until the tips of my toes were warm again. I thought about the change of season, the gentle breeze outside, and how grateful I was that the dog had taken me along. It's the magic that our friends give us: they take us to places we wouldn't go on our own and show us things we would otherwise miss.
I sighed slowly, rolled over on my side, pulling the blanket over my shoulders, and felt myself sinking into sleep, drawing part of today into my daydreams, falling asleep. The squirrel swept its tail high up in the tree. The leash was taut because the dog suddenly wanted to run. Growing Moon and sleeping Earth. Probability of first snow.
Yes, I'll probably wake up again tomorrow night, and the day after tomorrow, and so on, but it made me happy.
Sweet Dreams.
The third story. Winter day outside the window
From the window I watched what was probably the last big snowfall of this winter.
Snow lay in even layers on the lawns and rooftops of our block. I knew we all wanted spring now, but we could be coaxed into spending another day admiring the quiet charm of falling flakes, squeezing snowballs with gloves and making snowmen, sledding down the hillside in the park.
I didn't know if I wanted to go sledding, but I was ready to watch it from the cozy warmth of the living room, warming my feet with thick socks to the whistle of the kettle boiling in the kitchen. Watch how a small flock of neighboring children, wrapped from head to toe, dragged sleds and ice-boats on thin ropes. Even in boots and insulated thick trousers, they somehow skipped forward and called their friends and younger sisters to speed up their pace. The sledding hill was waiting for them.
As a child, there was one in the neighborhood, and I remembered with what delight we rushed from it, crammed into the sleigh two or three of us, holding on to their worn-out reins and each other, and shouted, picking up speed.
We rolled over or crashed into a pile of snow, jumped up, shook snowflakes from our faces and raced back up.
Sometimes it was cold or someone's parents drove us back into the house to keep warm. We took off our wet coats and hats, put them on the radiator so that they would dry faster, and sometimes, without waiting, put them on again and raced up the hill.
I went into the kitchen, poured boiling water from the kettle into a cup, and tossed the tea bag in, shaking it slowly as I watched the reddish-brown color of the rooibos flow like ink into the water. She went to the sideboard and took out a pack of cookies, bought the day before.
Pushing a cart down the aisles of the grocery store, I was lost in the day's worries when I saw a familiar orange pack of cookies I hadn't eaten since I was a kid. It looked like windmills, light brown, with almond flecks scattered across the dough.
In the blink of an eye, I forgot about the confusion of thoughts that did not let me go, and reached for the pack on the shelf.
The inscription was exactly the same as it had been when I was a child, thick and slightly smeared, as if it had been printed on an old-fashioned press. The company logo was a greased windmill and a family name, and when I turned the pack over, I saw that the cookies were still being made in a small town up north.
Suddenly, I felt immense gratitude that this delicacy had ended up here, on the shelf of a nearby store. She smoothed out the wrapper and peered through the cellophane at the cookies. It wasn't perfectly shaped, each a little irregular, some darker, thicker, or paler. They immediately migrated to my cart, and since then I have been looking forward to the moment to open them for tea.
I ate these cookies at my grandparents' house. Looking back, I couldn't remember trying them anywhere else. She took out a plate, placed a stack of windmills on it, and carried them back to the chair by the window. Sitting comfortably and tucking her legs under her, she put the blanket on her knees and took one of the cookies.
I brought it to my nose and inhaled the sweet aroma.
There was some spice in it - I smelled the smell of cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon and a faint cherry-sweet aroma of almonds. I took a bite, the cookies were a little crumbly and dry, but the taste immediately brought me back to my grandparents' kitchen. Their house was small, with a tiny front porch, and nestled in a cozy spot among tall, old trees. Their shadows lurked in every corner, and the rooms were filled with paintings and toys that had once belonged to my father. But in the daytime the house was bright and full of sun.
Grandmother hid the “windmills” in the back of the cupboard, covering the cookies with a jar of flour so that grandfather would not accidentally stumble upon them. She and I would put a pack of biscuits on the table and each one would dip them into their drink, Grandmother into coffee and I into cocoa, and slowly ate it while watching the squirrels running along the fence.
Maybe I inherited a penchant for quiet contemplation from her.
Looking out over the snow-covered yard, I raised my cup to share my memories of our time in the kitchen with her, then washed down the cookies with a slow sip of tea. A few more guys ran to their friends on the hill, and mittens dangled from strings on their wrists. I saw how the snow lay flat on the bare branches of a plane tree in a neighbor's yard and the slanting peach-orange rays of the setting sun spilled across the sky. Yes, I will be happy for spring when it comes, but I was happy to stay at home and watch the snow fall.
Sweet dreams.
More cozy stories, meditations to relieve stress throughout the day, recipes and crafts in Katherine Nicolai's book Nothing Special Happens. Cozy stories for restful sleep. Reclaim your restful sleep and all the joys that come with it.
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Nothing special is happening. Cozy stories for restful sleepCatherine Nikolay
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Four love stories, or How life is unpredictable
https://sn.ria.ru/20180214/1514544784.html
Four love stories, or How life is unpredictable
Four love stories, or How life is unpredictable - RIA Novosti, 03.03.2020
Four stories of love, or how unpredictable life can be
While some people only dream of finding their soul mate, someone has already found it. There are no identical love stories, despite the fact that ... RIA Novosti, 02/14/2018
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social navigator, Russia
Social navigator, Russia
While some people only dream of finding their soul mate, someone has already found it. There are no identical love stories, despite the fact that there are similar plots. Someone was lucky to meet the same one at school, and right away on the solemn line, someone learned the name of their future husband long before they were married, and someone realized that true love knows no time and distance and say " I agree it's never too late.
For Valentine's Day, "Social Navigator" has collected four incredible love stories that will help you believe in a miracle.
Together from school, or Copper rings
Elena and Konstantin met when they were only seven years old. They ended up in class 1 "B" by a lucky chance - they forgot about Lena and several girls during the distribution, and then the class teacher took the students to her place.
© RIA Novosti / SherstennikovThe school gave the characters of this story not only knowledge, but also love
© RIA Novosti / Sherstennikov
Several school years passed, and Kostya nevertheless gathered his courage and handed over to his beloved an encrypted note in which he confessed his feelings. Then they were 12 years old.
From the 6th grade, they began to spend time together - they walked and went to the cinema, and in the 8th grade they sat down at the same desk. Elena recalls that none of her classmates bullied or teased the young couple, everyone treated their relationship very reverently and carefully, even the teachers.
Grade 7 played an important role in their future family life - then 13-year-old teenagers decided that they would definitely get married, and Kostya even made wedding rings from copper nuts. Of course, it was impossible to wear them, but Elena still remembers this gift with special warmth.
As often happens, the last call could separate the lovers, because Lena entered the university, which was located in another city, but the distance only strengthened the already strong feelings.
Despite the fact that the young people were separated by four hours on the bus, they met once every two weeks - either she went to him, or he went to her.
February 2, 2018, 04:33 PM
Gender relations. What will the family and school teach?
But the test of the strength of feelings did not end there - in 1987 Konstantin was drafted into the army. Ahead were two years apart, the lovers were already separated by 10 hours on the train. But even this could not weaken the love between them. During the entire time of her service, Elena came to her young man eight times.
Konstantin was demobilized in 1989, and now the lovers did not part anymore - they got married on February 15 of the next year. Elena says that if they had known about Valentine's Day then, they would have gotten married a little earlier, but this does not upset her at all, because tomorrow they will celebrate the 28th anniversary of their marriage, and in September their daughter will turn 28 years old.
Love stories are always a miracle, but some are based on real mystical events, when a fortuneteller or a gypsy sees the name of the future groom in coffee grounds or on Tarot cards, a meeting with whom will take place in a few years.
The fortune-teller turned out to be right, or there is only one surname, and there are many applicants
Masha was 12 years old when a gypsy came to their village in the Penza region and began to guess. Village girls brought her some bread, some milk, and held out their palms. Of course, first of all, everyone was interested in the name of the groom. “Your last name will be Penkina, remember. And your husband will be called Nikolai,” said the gypsy to Masha.
The girl confidently objected that neither in their village, nor in the neighboring one, there are people with such a surname, so the gypsy should read the data from her palm more carefully. Then she said that she would live in Ryazan. "There is no such city. Maybe Kazan?" - Masha was not all right with geography.
The gypsy took a closer look and cut her off: no, it’s Ryazan after all, and don’t argue with a medium.
February 13, 2018, 6:30 pm
"I will prove that I love you!"So this story began in 1949. Then Masha's mother died, and her stepmother hinted that she already had two hungry mouths and that she and her brother and sister needed to look for a new home. And it was not so easy to leave the village at that time. Having received a passport, Masha wrote an application to the Penza Library College and entered. She took her younger brother and sister, some money and left, but not to Penza, but to Moscow. For a year she worked as a tracker on the railway and moved to Ryazan.
The family settled in the dormitory of the ceramic factory, slept on the same bed, across, with their feet on stools. In that hostel, Masha met a man whose name was Anatoly Penkin.
"The gypsy made a little mistake. Anatoly, Nikolai - the difference is small," the girl thought.
Anatoly began hitting on her, and great love could have grown out of this, if not for a stupid case. Anatoly was going to an important event and asked for neighborly help, to iron his trousers, since he himself did not know how. Masha didn’t know how, either, but she happily agreed. “I then stroked such shooters for him that I had to buy new trousers,” she recalled. Anatoly in new trousers soon married a neighbor. And Masha moved to the dormitory of a brick factory.
© From the personal archive Having met several Penkins, Maria nevertheless found her Nikolai
© From the personal archive
In order for the guardianship authorities not to take the children to the orphanage, Masha wrote a letter to Kliment Voroshilov and even got to see him. Nothing could stop this woman. Gradually, the problems with the placement of children were resolved, it remains to build your family happiness. In the new hostel there was again a man named Penkin, only his name was Victor.
It turned out that he had eight brothers, among whom, of course, was Nikolai.
At that time, he had just returned from the army to his native Lipetsk village. The young man did not know anything about the gypsy woman's prediction, so he did not look for love and was going to get a job on a collective farm. A hard-working guy with golden hands had a great future, even at the wheel of a bulldozer, even as an educated agronomist. But fate brought him to his brother in a hostel in Ryazan. There he noticed the girl Mary.
In the spring of 1956, the entire dormitory went out for Saturday work. The work was distributed according to the availability of tools. If you have a shovel, you will dig; if you have brushes, you will paint. Masha had a crowbar.
"Why did I pay attention to her? It was painfully good at breaking the ice, the crowbar flew like that! And she joked and laughed all the time. Then I thought that I had to be a fool to miss such a woman," Nikolai tells his grandchildren.
Last year, surrounded by a large family, they celebrated the 60th anniversary of their life together. Masha put on a veil that her great-granddaughter made from tulle, and Nikolai put on a jacket with a tie.
© From the personal archive Maria and Nikolai, September 3, 1957
© From the personal archive
Many people say that it is impossible to forget the first love. In everyone's heart there is a special place for joyful, warm and even sad memories. It happens that only after a while you realize that true love has always been there, and feelings have not yet subsided.
Because you have Alyoshka, or And then the bell rang
The story of Natalia and Alexei began more than twenty years ago. Young and inexperienced schoolchildren did not think about relationships at all then.
13 February 2018, 15:48
In Moscow, more than 320 couples will get married on Valentine's Day
Spring came, the warm sun appeared on the street, and Natasha and her friend decided to go for a walk.
That day they met three guys. Vitaly, the most mature, brave and arrogant, immediately began to actively care for the main character, although at that time she did not even think about relationships. Sasha was carried away by her friend, and the modest and not very sociable Lesha was left alone. Natasha did not tell anyone that even then she liked Alexei.
Time passed, and the modest, silent Lyosha nevertheless confessed to the girl his feelings, which turned out to be mutual. The young people were in love, happy, and did not even think of leaving until Natalya got ready for Moscow. It was too early for the heroes to think about living together, so they decided to leave.
After the move, the girl's life changed. The rhythm of the big city captivated Natalya, she made new friends, began to go out more often, met a guy.
Young people have been together for a long time, and it seemed to her that here she is - real, adult love. But subconsciously, the girl every time compared her young man with Lesha, she never forgot about him.
Mutual friends said that everything was not going well with Alexei in his personal life, that he always spoke about Natalya, although she continued to believe that youthful love was in the past, that it was all just an illusion.
© RIA Novosti / Vladimir SergeevThe lovers thought about each other even when apart . And then fate knocked on her door, or rather, called on the phone.
February 14, 2018, 10:00
Kind, unusual, eternal. Three love stories that make you want to live after
Sitting on suitcases, waiting to return to her small homeland, Natalya heard a phone call - it was Alex. He got her number from mutual friends. They talked all evening, as in the old days, when everything was just beginning, and it immediately became clear to them that their destiny was to be together.
The lovers got married in a few months, and soon they will have a long-awaited child. The first daughter of Natalia treats Alexei as an older friend.
It happens that halves know each other all their lives, but for some reason it seems that this is only friendship, but one fine day you realize that he is the only one.
Quest in the dark, or Parents got married
Maxim was two years old when he went with his parents to the sea. Everyone was having a great time until the boy got a stomach ache. And so much so that the family had to interrupt the vacation and urgently return home. Someone advised taking the child to the hospital to see a doctor he knew. There, he was quickly diagnosed and operated on, which literally saved the boy from death - then his appendicitis burst.
The surgery was successful, so Maxim's dad decided to meet the doctor. It turned out that the doctor also has children - one-year-old Dasha and her two-year-old sister. The joke suggested itself: "Let's marry them?".
© From the personal archive Then no one thought that after a comic proposal their children would get married
© From the personal archive
Families began to become friends: they rested together and went to each other on holidays, but a real friendship between Dasha and Maxim began, when they were six or seven years old.
Years passed, the young man got another girlfriend, both families warmly accepted her and already married the couple in their heads, and Dasha began to fly abroad often.
Returning from another trip, the heroine of this story and her friends decided to go on a quest, and she invited Maxim there as well. Then he told that he had parted with his passion. It was decided to reconcile them, but Maxim was categorically against it.
After this incident, childhood friends began to see each other more often: almost every day they went to the cinema, cafes and again gathered for another quest - scary, in complete darkness, which Dasha was always afraid of. Everyone was supposed to split up in pairs, and the girl instinctively grabbed Maxim's hand. There, in the darkness, the starting point of their nascent relationship appeared.
Then followed the New Year, which the lovers spent first with their parents, and then with friends. Everything between them was very innocent and even childish - they just held hands.
February 14, 2018, 07:00
For Valentine's Day. "For the sake of love, even Napoleon will oversleep..." Napoleon's "Hundred Days" did not begin at all with his decision to return to the throne. And with the love of a British colonel and an Italian countess. And, of course, Saint Valentine is to blame for everything.
A few days later, at 2 am, Dasha's phone rang — Maxim asked her to come downstairs. Half asleep, she thought it was a joke, but then she went down anyway and saw him on the threshold of the house with her favorite scarlet roses in her hands. The guy kissed her on the cheek and just left.
At that time Dasha did not want to change her life, she did not want to refuse trips abroad, she was afraid of the unknown. Therefore, when in February, friends suggested that Maxim go to Sochi to snowboard, the girl persuaded Maxim to go out with friends. In addition, his ex went to the company, and everyone suggested that there they could get back together.
