LOVE PAINTED IN LIES

Eliana discovered love the year she least expected it, in a season where the sun seemed to shine brighter and school corridors felt like endless possibilities. She was the type who lived in colours and brushstrokes, whose fingers were often stained with paint, who stayed after class to perfect her canvases while others rushed home. Everyone knew her as the girl who aimed high scholarship aspirations, art competitions waiting to be won, a future she guarded fiercely.

Romance, she believed, was a distraction for people who had time to fall apart and piece themselves back together, she didn't think she was one of them.

‎Then Adrian came.

‎He transferred from another city mid-term tall, quiet, with that kind of presence that entered a room gently yet confidently. People noticed him instantly, but he wasn't loud or showy. He smiled rarely, but when he did, it reached his eyes softly, like a secret shared with the world. His first week was a blur of introductions. Girls whispered about him, boys tried to befriend him, teachers praised his smart answers. Eliana barely paid attention until the day fate decided to intervene.

‎It was a Tuesday, the kind with lazy heat pressing down on the school like a heavy blanket. Students gathered under trees during break, escaping the sun. Eliana sat alone sketching a distant church tower, lost in the rhythm of pencil strokes. She didn't notice someone approach until a shadow fell across her page.

‎"Your drawing's so detailed. You did that in one break?" a voice asked.

‎She looked up Adrian.

‎Her heart skipped, not romantically, but from surprise. She wasn't used to attention, especially from people everyone else admired.

‎"Yes," she replied, tucking a braid behind her ear. "It keeps me calm."

‎He smiled slightly. "Mind if I watch?"

‎Most people stared at her art like an exhibit, but he watched her, curious about the person behind the pencil. It felt different. He sat beside her, careful not to intrude, and asked questions about shading, perspective, her favourite paint medium. Not small talk. Real interest.

‎Break ended too soon, and they walked to class together. That was the beginning.

‎Days passed, and they found themselves paired for a history project. At first, it was just work research meetings in the library, exchanging notebooks, drafting timelines. But school projects have a way of creating moments. Their conversations stretched beyond history dates into life stories. Adrian confessed he loved music, especially acoustic guitar, though he never performed publicly. His mother wanted him to study medicine, his father pushed for engineering, but he wasn't sure what he wanted. Eliana spoke about art like breathing, about the colours that reflected her moods. They were different, yet something connected quietly, curiosity, respect, and slowly, comfort.

‎One rainy afternoon they stayed back in school to finish the final slides. Thunder echoed outside, and everyone rushed home, but electricity flickered and went out. They remained, trapped, their project only half-done. Instead of panicking, they sat near the window, watching raindrops race down the glass.

‎"It sounds strange," Adrian said, voice soft under the storm's rhythm, "but rain makes me feel less alone."

‎Eliana nodded. "It makes everything slow enough to feel."

‎He looked at her as if her words painted something only he understood.

‎That moment lingered, warm and quiet.

‎By the time the rain lightened, something unspoken had formed between them. They walked under his jacket, sharing its cover from the drizzle. Their hands brushed accidentally no confession, no dramatic music, nothing like movies, just two hearts learning to beat near each other.

‎Soon they were inseparable. Others noticed. Their classmates teased gently "Eliana and Adrian, the creative duo," "History couple," "Art and music." She blushed at jokes, but a part of her felt proud, chosen even. For someone who thought love was a distraction, she began to look forward to school more than ever. Study sessions turned into long conversations. Messages at night stretched until sleep stole one of them away mid-reply. They exchanged playlists, photos of paintings and sunsets, poems found online. Eliana felt her chest bloom with warmth she did not know how to name.

‎One evening, as they walked home from a debate event, the street was washed with golden dusk. Children played nearby, a football bouncing across the road. Eliana laughed at a joke he made a sound light and free. Adrian paused, watching her in a way she didn't notice until silence replaced his laughter.

‎"Eliana," he said, voice steady but gentle, "I think I'm falling for you."

‎The world seemed to still. Cars passed, wind rustled leaves, but her heart grew loud. She'd never been confessed to before. She looked at him, his eyes holding sincerity like an open book.

‎"But we're young," she whispered.

‎"I know," he replied. "But feelings don't wait for age."

‎She didn't answer at first. Love felt like a cliff thrilling, terrifying. Yet something inside her stepped forward. She smiled faintly.

‎"I think... I'm falling too."

‎No kiss. No dramatic embrace. Just two hearts realizing they had become each other's safe space.

‎Their relationship blossomed. They sat together in class, shared meals during break, competed playfully over grades. On weekends, they walked through markets and parks, sometimes silent, sometimes laughing endlessly. Adrian played guitar for her once shy fingers trembling but his voice was soft and beautiful. She painted him a small portrait, one he said he'd keep forever. They made promises to support each other's dreams, to stay honest, to never let misunderstandings break what they had.

‎Love was simple. Pure. Like a sunrise before the clouds form.

‎Eliana didn't know then that the brightest sun casts the darkest shadows. She didn't know that love can be tested, stretched, or shattered. At that time, she believed forever was easy just two hearts and a promise.

‎If someone told her betrayal waited just beyond the horizon, she might have laughed and said their bond was too strong.

‎But life writes its own chapters.

‎And this was only the beginning.

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