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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“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.
5. The Mountain
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,
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
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
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.
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.
8. This Girl
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,
But this girl takes butterflies to a whole new level
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.
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.
*phone call *
Boy: Hey, hun!
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.
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.
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.
Boy: Why did you ask?
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.
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.
12. This was fate
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.
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
I looked back at him
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
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.”
“Penniless, if rumor holds true.”
“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.
15. Staying Home
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
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
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.
17. My First Kiss
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….
— — —