শেয়ার
MidReal গল্প
The Billionaire's Secret Adoptive Daughter
পটভূমি:M家的大少爷M1，从小心里住着一位白月光，据说曾经是隔壁家O先生掌上明珠O1。多年前O家没落，O家大小姐O1不知所踪。多年后的一场宴会上，M1是主位的座上宾，而台上的名角却酷似当年的O1
এই গল্পের আমার সংস্করণ তৈরি করুন
M1
male. He is the eldest son in the M family. He is introspective,nostalgic,and determined. As a youth,he was captivated by a mysterious girl from the O family,who later disappeared. Years later,at a banquet,he discovers that the performer on stage is her lookalike. This encounter reignites his memories and emotions,leading him to pursue this unexpected connection. Through his journey,he seeks answers about her past and tries to understand their shared history.
M2 (Side Character)
male. He is the younger brother of M1 in the M family. He is carefree,humorous,and supportive. While not deeply involved in the central narrative of O1's reappearance,he plays a role in providing background context and comic relief throughout M1's journey of rediscovery and pursuit of O1.
Mr. O (Paternal Figure)
male. He is the father of O1 and former owner of a prosperous business. He is protective,traditional,and stern. He had high expectations for his daughter after his business declined and he lost everything. His role in the story revolves around his initial admiration for O1 and how his life changed after his financial downfall,ultimately leading to her disappearance.
When I was young, there was a girl who shone brightly like the moon.
Her name was O1, and she was the treasured jewel of Mr. O, who lived in the house next door.
I still remember that day.
It was the summer vacation when I was eight years old.
The sun shone brightly, and I was curious about the garden in the O family's house.
I had always wondered what it looked like.
So, I climbed over the wall and entered the garden.
There, I saw O1.
She was sitting on a stone bench, her long black hair hanging down, her rosy cheeks looking delicate and beautiful.
She was playing with a ball, her slender fingers moving nimbly.
I watched her for a while, not wanting to disturb her.
But then she looked up and saw me standing there.
She was surprised but not frightened.
"Hello," she said softly, smiling shyly at me.
"Hello," I replied, feeling a little nervous but also excited to meet her.
"What's your name?"
"My name is O1," she said, "and you are?"
"I'm..."
I hesitated for a moment before answering, "I'm from next door."
"Oh, you're from next door," she repeated, "I've seen you before."
"You have?"
I asked, surprised that she knew who I was.
"Yes," she said with a smile, "you're always looking out of your window at night."
"Oh..."I felt a little embarrassed that she knew my secret. "Would you like to see my favorite flowers?" she asked me, changing the subject.
"Yes," I replied eagerly, wanting to see more of the garden and get to know her better.
She led me around the garden, pointing out different types of flowers and telling me their names.
I listened intently, fascinated by her knowledge and enthusiasm.
As we walked, she asked me questions about myself and listened attentively to my answers.
I felt comfortable talking to her and enjoyed her company immensely.
After a while, we sat down on the stone bench again and talked some more.
This time, our conversation turned to our favorite things in life.
She told me about her love for music and dance, while I shared my passion for reading and writing. As we talked, I noticed that she seemed different from other girls her age.
She was more mature and wise beyond her years.
Her eyes sparkled with intelligence and curiosity, and she had a kind heart that made me feel at ease in her presence. Before I knew it, the sun began to set and cast a warm orange glow over the garden.
O1 looked up at the sky and smiled wistfully.
That was the moment I realized she was a part of my world, and I would never see it the same way again.
As dusk approached, we heard Mrs. O calling from the house.
O1 stood up quickly and brushed off her dress.
"I have to go," she whispered, but instead of running away, she hesitated for a moment.
Then, she picked a small white flower from the garden and placed it in my hand.
Her fingers lingered against mine for a second before she let go.
I clutched the delicate bloom tightly in my fist and watched as she took a few steps backward toward her house.
When she reached the path that led to the garden gate, she turned and looked at me one last time.
"O1," I called out, my voice barely above a whisper, "will I see you again?"
She paused, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.
"Meet me here tomorrow at the same time," she said softly, a hint of a secret in her smile, "there's something important I need to show you."
I arrived at the garden the next afternoon, my heart pounding with anticipation.
The stone bench where we had met sat empty, bathed in the warm sunlight.
I waited, watching as the shadows lengthened across the grass and the flowers swayed gently in the breeze.
But as the minutes ticked by, O1 did not appear.
An hour passed, and worry began to gnaw at me.
Where was she?
Had she forgotten our meeting?
Or was something wrong?
Unable to wait any longer, I decided to venture closer to the O family mansion.
As I approached the house, I noticed that something was amiss.
Servants were rushing about, their faces filled with concern.
Hushed voices floated through the air, and a black car was parked by the front gate.
I crept closer, trying not to be seen, and peered through a ground floor window.
There, I saw Mrs. O crying in Mr. O's arms while he spoke urgently on the phone.
A maid hurried past them, carrying a small stuffed rabbit that I recognized as O1's favorite toy.
My stomach dropped as I realized that something terrible had happened.
O1 was gone, leaving only the memory of her smile and the promise of a secret untold.
Moving through the shadows, I pressed myself against walls and ducked behind furniture, trying not to be seen by the rushing servants.
The scent of jasmine incense filled each room, familiar and comforting.
But something was off.
Drawers were left open, papers scattered across desks.
In Mr. O's study, I found a half-packed briefcase and crumpled documents in the waste bin.
My hands trembled as I smoothed out one of the papers—a bank notice marked "FINAL WARNING" in red.
A floorboard creaked behind me.
I spun around to find Mrs. O standing in the doorway, her eyes red from crying.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and exhaustion.
"I... I was looking for O1," I stammered, clutching the paper behind my back.
Mrs. O sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping as she whispered, "She's gone to stay with relatives until things settle down."
She walked past me and sank into Mr. O's leather chair.
Her hands trembled as she smoothed her wrinkled dress.
"You're a good boy for caring about O1," she said softly, her voice cracking.
I stepped closer, my eight-year-old heart racing.
"I can help," I blurted out, pulling out the red envelope of New Year's money from my pocket.
"My father has lots of money."
Mrs. O's eyes welled up as she gently pushed my hand away.
"Sweet child," she whispered, her voice breaking.
"Some problems can't be fixed with money."
She stood up suddenly, straightening her shoulders.
"Go home now," she said, her voice firm, "and remember her as she was."
I lingered in the doorway, my New Year's money still clutched in my small fist.
Mrs. O moved to the window, her silhouette stark against the dying light.
"I'll wait for her," I declared, my voice stronger than I felt.
"No matter how long it takes."
Mrs. O turned slightly, a sad smile crossing her face.
She walked past me without a word, her perfume trailing behind her as she moved toward the garden door.
I followed her to the threshold, watching as she stepped onto the stone path.
The setting sun cast long shadows across the flowers O1 and I had admired just yesterday.
Mrs. O paused, her voice barely above a whisper, "She'll need friends when she returns."
I nodded, determined. "I'll be here."
With a final glance, Mrs. O murmured, "Then keep her secrets safe until then."
I lingered in the garden until the sun dipped below the horizon, watching as Mrs. O tended to the flowers O1 had shown me yesterday.
When darkness fell, I reluctantly climbed back over the wall to my house.
In my room, I placed the white flower O1 had given me between the pages of my favorite book.
Then, I sat by my window and stared at the empty stone bench in the O family garden.
Days turned to weeks.
Weeks turned to months.
Every evening, I watched Mrs. O water the garden alone.
Then one day, a 'For Sale' sign appeared on the high wall that separated our homes.
Within a month, the O family mansion was empty.
The garden grew wild, and moss began to cover the stone bench where O1 and I had once sat together.
I stood by the window, feeling the weight of the silence that had settled over the neighborhood.
"Do you think she'll ever come back?" my mother asked gently, joining me at the window.
"I don't know," I replied, my voice barely a whisper, "but I'll keep waiting."
I stand at my bedroom window, gazing out at the overgrown garden next door.
In the two decades since I first met O1, the garden has changed very little.
The stone bench where we sat together that day still stands, though now it is cracked and covered in vines.
The white flower O1 gave me that day is still preserved between the pages of my old book.
I run my fingers over its dried petals, which are now brittle and fragile.
The letter from my younger brother M2 arrived yesterday afternoon.
He wrote that he would be attending a prestigious banquet tonight, and I was his guest of honor.
I had no intention of going, but my mother insisted that I attend.
I sigh as I adjust my tie in the mirror, smoothing out any wrinkles in my formal suit.
I pause at my bedroom door, hand lingering on the polished brass handle.
The weight of the dried flower in my jacket pocket draws me back to the window for one final look.
Moonlight spills across the overgrown garden, casting long shadows from the crumbling wall that once separated our homes.
My feet move on their own, carrying me down the familiar hallway and out the side door.
Gravel crunches beneath my dress shoes as I approach the old boundary between our properties.
The garden gate hangs crooked on rusted hinges, creaking softly as I push it open.
I step into the garden, memories flooding back with every step.
Suddenly, a voice breaks the silence, "I didn't think you'd come back here."
Startled, I turn to see O1 standing by the stone bench, her silhouette framed by the moonlight.