LOVE AND LIES

I Chose the Lie, Even When It Hurt Him

“Hello, I am on my way to Bath to see my aunt’s family,” Kiara said on the phone.

His voice settled into me before his words did. Calm. Warm. Familiar in a way that felt dangerous.

“I was just calling to check on you,” I said softly. “Let me know when you arrive.”

“No,” he replied, almost gently. “I will tell you when I arrive.” Then there was a pause, the kind that lingers just long enough to mean something. “Should I tell my family that my girlfriend has sent greetings, or have I already been replaced?”

He was joking.

I knew he was joking.

But my heart did not know the difference.

“Yes,” I said, smiling into the silence. “Pass my greetings. And no… you have not been replaced.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

But it did not feel empty.

It felt… full.

Like something unspoken had just passed between us.

We were not anything. Not really. Just conversations, late calls, and imagination. But in that moment, it did not feel like nothing. It felt like something that was quietly becoming.

We stayed on that call for over two hours and somehow, it never felt long. We talked about everything. Work. Life. The kind of random thoughts that only feel important when you are sharing them with the right person. He listened to me in a way I had never experienced before. Not just hearing me, but understanding me. Responding carefully, like my words mattered.

We moved between English and French without effort, slipping in and out of languages like we had done it all our lives. There was something intimate about it. Something soft. Something that felt like closeness without needing to be explained.

At some point, he mentioned that he did not drink alcohol. It was such a small detail, but it stayed with me. It grounded him in a way I could not explain. It made him feel intentional, disciplined, different from the men I had known before. That was the moment I stopped holding back. I was sold completely.

I did not say it out loud. Instead, I lied to myself. I told myself it was just a conversation. Just interest. Just something light that would pass, but deep down, I knew the truth. I was already falling and the worst part was… I did not want to stop.

After the call, we continued talking on w******p. And somehow, it only got better. The conversation felt easier, closer, like we were slowly stepping into something neither of us was naming.

It was Friday. Tracy’s birthday was on Sunday. I told him he could come and take us out for pizza, since he had once promised us that. It sounded casual. But it was another lie. I already had plans with Tracy’s mother for a surprise. I knew it would not work. I knew it would fall apart. But to him, it sounded real and he believed me.

He said he would leave his aunt’s place early on Sunday to make it back to London for the birthday. He adjusted his time.

For me. And that is when I understood something about him. Time was his most valuable asset. Not money. Not status. Not anything else. Time. And he was giving it to me. Freely. Without hesitation. Without knowing who I really was. That was the moment our “talking stage” truly began. Not because of what we said, but because of what he gave. Access. His time.

The next day, Saturday, I changed his name on my phone. I saved it as Avant toi.(Before you in French)

Inspired by the French song. It felt like too much. But it also felt true. He had become something in my life. Something I could not ignore. Something I did not want to lose.

Deep down, I knew something else. For someone who valued truth the way he did…I was going to hurt him. Because I could not show him who I really was.

I did not even know who that was anymore. My identity felt broken. Incomplete. So instead of fixing it, I built something better. A version of me that looked whole. That looked perfect. That he could fall in love with. Even if it was not real.

That Saturday, we talked about music again. We even agreed that he would come over so I could teach him. Another lie. He was better than I.

I had forgotten how to read a music score, but I still positioned myself as someone who could guide him. Because with him, I felt like I needed to be perfect. Not almost. Not trying. Perfect.

Sunday came. It was Tracy’s birthday.

I helped her mum organize a surprise. A cake, small but meaningful. I sang for her, and we got dressed for the day. We went to Westfield Mall for food and a movie.

For a moment, everything felt normal. Then my phone buzzed. It was him. He said he was on his way back to London and asked where he could find us.

I stared at the message. Too long. I knew what I had told him.I knew what he expected. For the first time, the guilt felt heavy.

I was falling for him, and I was hurting him.

I did not reply. Not because I forgot. But because I could not face what replying meant. Continuing the lie.

Tracy enjoyed her birthday. She laughed, she smiled, but even she had her own disappointment. Her boyfriend had switched off his phone and done nothing for her birthday. A liar. Just like me.

That thought stayed with me. When I got home, I texted Kiara. I told him my phone had been on silent. Another lie. He believed me.

But this time, I felt it. The slight shift in him. The quiet disappointment he did not say out loud and it hurt. More than I expected.

We talked for a while, trying to return to normal. Then I asked him to come over the next day for cake. Like nothing had happened.

Like I had not ignored him. Like I had not hurt him. He agreed. And once again, I chose the lie. Even when I could feel it breaking something between us.