Truth Isn't Supposed To Be Temporary

By Devika Hardikar

In the quiet refuge of the old bookstore, its dimly lit corners adorned with the richness of forgotten tales, Lily and Adrian found themselves immersed in a conversation that transcended the physicality of the room. Lily, with her chestnut hair cascading in loose waves around her shoulders, traced the spines of ancient novels with slender fingers. Her eyes, a shade of hazel that reflected a depth of emotion, held an enigmatic allure. 

Adrian, sitting across from her in an antique armchair, possessed an air of quiet wisdom. His dark, wavy hair framed a face that bore the marks of time—laughter lines etched beside eyes that gleamed with an intelligence seasoned by experience. A well-worn leather jacket draped over his shoulders, a tangible symbol of the stories he carried with him. 

As Lily sighed and began speaking about love poems, her voice carried a melodic undertone, and the vulnerability in her eyes hinted at the chapters of her own story yet to be told. Adrian, listening intently, wore a gentle smile that spoke of understanding, as if he had deciphered the nuances of countless narratives before. 

"Someday, we will be all that we need," Adrian said, his deep voice resonating with a quiet reassurance. Lily's gaze met his, and in that moment, the bookstore seemed to cocoon them in an atmosphere of shared understanding and unspoken promises. 

However, the tranquil ambiance shifted when Lily's eyes, framed by a pair of vintage glasses, wandered toward the rain-streaked window. Adrian, sensing a change, spoke with a compassionate yet matter-of-fact tone. 

"You can't escape the one thing that always seems to catch up to you. There's no point in avoiding the inevitable. The only person you're fooling is yourself." 

Lily, her heart heavy with unsaid words, nodded in agreement. The complexity of their connection hung in the air—an intricate dance of shared truths and personal illusions. 

As Adrian continued, discussing beliefs and undeniable truths, the lines on his weathered face seemed to deepen with a quiet resolve. Lily, a picture of quiet strength, absorbed his words with a mix of contemplation and acceptance. 

Their attention then shifted to the piano in the corner, its polished wood and ivory keys beckoning to be touched. Adrian, with a hint of mischief in his eyes, suggested,

"Lie and manipulate your friends and use them as tools. Practice piano and calligraphy." 

Lily's fingers traced the keys, and as the first notes resonated through the bookstore, the music became a bridge between their worlds. The piano, like an old friend, responded to Lily's touch with a melody that echoed the complexities of life. 

As they prepared to leave, the rain outside intensified. Adrian, observing Lily's silent contemplation, shared a final reflection, "Those who desire the death of others have an equal desire to die." 

In the rain-soaked streets, Lily and Adrian walked side by side, their reflections mirroring in the puddles beneath their feet. The beauty of the lies and the weight of inevitable truths lingered in their shared gaze—an unspoken acknowledgment of the intricacies that connected their lives. 

"Turns out it was mostly a lie. But, at least for a little while, it was a beautiful one," Adrian said, and Lily, with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow in her eyes, nodded in agreement. The bookstore, with its weathered charm, had become a witness to a 

chapter in their stories—a chapter written in the ink of shared experiences, profound truths, and the bittersweet beauty of fleeting lies.

By Devika Hardikar