Whispers In The Smoke.

1 | Évera Lysander Valeria

I could see the sun setting, casting a golden light across the lake. I sat on the bench nearby, the one we used to meet at when life was simpler. The soft breeze carried the scent of autumn leaves, and the sounds of children playing at the park in the distance faded into the background as my thoughts took over. My fingers traced the worn wood of the bench, the spot where his name was once carved ever so clearly, now barely visible after years of weathering. I can feel my eyes tearing up as my mind drifted back to the days when the carving was fresh.

"I'll never leave you," he said as he moved a strand of my hair from my face, one afternoon when we came to the lake after school. I slightly slapped his hand away and chuckled, trying to hide my flushed cheeks. "You and me, forever" he said once again, now holding both my hands into his as he looked up at me from the kneeled position he was in. My heart fluttered, so easily swept up in the sweetness of his lies. The world felt smaller then, simpler. We spent hours on this bench, lost in each other, talking about college, traveling, and the life we would build together one day. I looked into his eyes and saw my entire future reflect back at me.

Only I couldn't notice the cracks beneath the surface of his eyes.

The world was so much simpler. Easier. Young. The future stretched ahead of us like an open road. I brushed off the moments when his eyes flickered with anything else but forever. Something unspoken. I chose to trust the sweet words he whispered, because they were what I wanted to hear. He was my first love, and I still hold onto every promise he made as if they were carved in stone. Even though those promises should have worn down, much like his name on this bench, they haven't. Time had revealed the truth beneath the lies eventually, though I didn't want to see it. Not then, not now, not ever. I sighed, my fingers still lingering on the faint trace of his name, now barely a memory etched into the wood, much like the love we once shared. Much like how the "forevers' had turned into "maybes," and eventually, into utter silence. What I had thought was forever, had slipped through my fingers, lost into the inevitability of time, youth, and the lies that were never meant to last. Yet they still do in my memories, and my heart. As much as I want to leave everything behind, the hope for the future to bring those forevers back lingers.

I hadn't realized it had already been 8 until I heard my phone ring, pulling me out of my thoughts of how much we had moved ahead of time. Separately. Till this day, I still wonder what it would have been like if he was here... I had become successful. I have my own successful high fashion business now. Forévra Couture. Up to this day, even though I am now a very powerful CEO of a thriving fashion empire, even as I basked in the glow of my success, a shadow lingered over me—a nagging reminder of what I had lost. Every victory felt hollow, echoing with whispers of 'what if?'

*ring*

My phone buzzed again, and my heart skipped a beat as I saw who it was.

"On my way. See you soon."

At the Airport

"You really thought you could slip away without me noticing?" he teases, pulling me into a warm embrace as he strokes the back of my hair.

"Time got away from me," I admit with a knowing smile, feeling the familiar comfort of his presence.

He chuckles, then reveals the gifts he brought back from Dubai. "I hope these make up for my absence."

"Dad, you always know how to pick the perfect things," I say, genuinely appreciative as we walk toward the car together.

Just as I reach for the car door, I hear my mom's playful voice from behind, "Am I invisible now?"

Turning around, I flash a confident smile, "Of course not, Mom! You're the one I've really missed." I walk over and embrace her, feeling a rush of warmth.

"I've missed you too, sweetheart," she replies, her eyes sparkling.

Inaya Lysander, my mother, stands tall at 5'11", her blonde hair cascading to her hips and her green eyes radiating strength. At 39, she carries an ageless elegance that belies her years.

Alessandro Lysander, my father, towers over us at 6'3", his wavy brown hair framing a youthful face with hazel eyes that gleam with kindness.

My mom gently pulls back from the hug, kissing my forehead. "Let's head home. I could use some rest after the trip."

"As you wish, my love," my dad responds, looking down at her with affection.