Eternal Ephemerals

Growing apart

She stared at the message on her phone, her heart pounding in her chest. It was a simple text from a friend, an offhand remark, something she wasn't supposed to know. Nothing earth-shattering, nothing life-changing—just a casual mention of a small gathering her sister had gone to last week. But what hurt wasn't the event itself. It was that her sister had lied.

She had asked her where she was that night, just casually, over dinner. Her sister had smiled, spooning rice into her bowl, and said she was at a friend's place, studying for an exam. She had trusted her without hesitation, because that's what they did. They trusted each other, shared every little detail of their lives, stayed up late talking until sleep blurred their words. They were close—closer than anyone else in the family. Or so she had thought.

She put her phone down, staring at the ceiling as her mind spun. The room felt heavy, as if the air had thickened, pressing down on her chest. Why had her sister lied? She knew her sister well—she could read the smallest shifts in her moods, could tell when she was hiding something. And now that smile replayed in her mind, that easy, practiced smile that had hidden the truth. It wasn't as if she would have stopped her from going out. It wasn't as if she would have judged her. She was her confidante, her partner-in-crime, the one person who knew her better than anyone else and trusted her with every secret, every fear, every joy. Or at least, she used to.

A deep, aching sadness settled in her chest, growing heavier with each breath. Was she not a part of her sister's life anymore? Had something changed, and she just hadn't noticed? She tried to think back, to find a moment when things might have shifted, but all she could see were the smiles, the shared laughter, the whispered conversations under the covers. When had those moments started to slip away? When had they become memories instead of promises?

Maybe her sister had grown up. Maybe she didn't need her the way she used to. The thought was like a punch to the gut, a sudden sharp pain that left her feeling hollow. She wanted to be happy for her sister. She wanted to be proud of her for finding her independence, for growing into her own person. But it hurt. It hurt to think that she was being left behind, that the bond they had shared for so long was unraveling, thread by delicate thread, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She thought about confronting her, asking her why she had lied. She imagined the conversation—the confusion in her sister's eyes, the shrug, maybe an apology. Or worse, the indifference. What if her sister didn't have a reason? What if she simply hadn't wanted to share that part of her life with her anymore? That possibility cut the deepest, made her chest tighten until she could barely breathe. It wasn't just the lie that stung. It was the distance it implied, the silent wall being built between them, brick by unspoken brick.

She heard a knock on her door, and her sister's voice called out, "Hey, can I come in?" She quickly wiped her eyes, her fingers trembling as she tried to steady her breathing.

"Yeah," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

The door opened, and her sister walked in, her face bright with a smile that was all innocence and warmth. "I was thinking we could watch a movie tonight. Just the two of us. Like old times."

Her heart clenched at those words. Like old times. She looked at her sister, at her eyes full of light, at the hopeful expression on her face, and for a moment, she wanted to say no. She wanted to tell her that she knew, that she was hurt, that things weren't the same. She wanted to let her sister feel, if only for a moment, the depth of the ache that had settled inside her. But she couldn't. The love she felt for her sister was too strong, too instinctive, drowning out the anger and the pain. So she forced a smile, though it felt fragile on her lips, like glass about to shatter.

"Sure," she said, her voice cracking just a little, betraying her. "Like old times."

Her sister beamed, and for a second, it almost made the pain worth it—seeing her smile like that, so genuine, so full of love. She watched her leave the room to set up the movie, and she sat there, her heart heavy, her hands resting limply on her lap. The tears she had held back burned at the edges of her eyes, but she blinked them away, swallowing hard. She would forgive her sister, she knew that much. She would let this go, bury it deep inside where all the other small hurts lived, the ones she never spoke of. Because she loved her sister more than anything. More than her pride, more than her own need to be understood.

But the pain lingered, a dull, unrelenting ache that wouldn't go away. It wasn't just about the lie—it was about what the lie meant. It was about the fear that this was only the beginning, that more lies would follow, that the distance between them would grow until one day she'd look up and realize she didn't know her sister at all.

She wanted to protect her sister from everything, to hold her close and shield her from the world. But maybe, she thought bitterly, it wasn't the world her sister wanted protecting from. Maybe it was her—her worry, her questions, her presence that had started to feel like a weight. The idea made her chest feel tight again, a constriction that wouldn't ease, and she found herself wishing, desperately, that she could go back. Back to when they were younger, when there were no secrets, no lies, only the warmth of shared laughter and whispered dreams that they had believed would never change.

She heard her sister calling her name from the living room, her voice light and full of excitement. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, feeling the ache settle, accepting it as part of her now. She stood up, plastering on a smile she hoped would pass for real, and walked out of her room.

There her sister was, sitting on the couch, patting the space beside her, her eyes shining. She looked at her sister—the sister she loved so fiercely, even if it broke her heart sometimes—and she walked over, sitting down beside her, feeling the weight between them, invisible and heavy. She knew she couldn't force her sister to share everything, couldn't demand her place in every part of her life. But she would be here, regardless. She would be here, hoping that someday her sister would choose to let her back in, that the distance would shrink instead of grow.

She leaned her head on her sister's shoulder, just for a moment, feeling her sister shift slightly in response. And maybe her sister didn't notice the tears she had wiped away, the cracks in her voice. Maybe her sister didn't know how much it hurt. But she would be here anyway, even if it hurt, because that's what love was. She would be here, waiting, as long as her sister needed.