10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXPR9jkVZtV
The smell of brewed coffee slipped into the room like a gentle whisper, drawing Colleen from the last traces of sleep. Golden light poured through the sheer curtains, soft and warm, painting her world in a watercolor of peace. For a moment, she didn’t move. She simply breathed it in — the quiet, the comfort, the illusion of forever.
Then came the knock.
Three soft taps. The door creaked open, and there he was — Andrei. Tousled hair, crooked smile, and a tray in his hands.
“Happy anniversary, sleepyhead,” he said, stepping closer.
Colleen sat up, smiling as he set the tray on her lap. Poached eggs, garlic rice, mango slices, and a perfect cup of coffee. She blinked, touched.
“You cooked?”
“I tried,” he laughed, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. “I might’ve watched three YouTube videos on how not to burn eggs.”
She giggled, tugging him into a one-armed hug. “It’s perfect.”
For the next few minutes, they talked about nothing and everything — how they first met at the campus organization fair, how she hated him for cutting in line, how he’d stolen her heart anyway with bad puns and relentless persistence. Seven years later, here they were. Still fighting, still laughing, still choosing each other.
Or so she thought.
Andrei went to shower, humming a familiar tune as he walked into the bathroom. Colleen, still smiling, reached for her phone. Dozens of notifications awaited her — friends greeting them, old photos being tagged, a short montage her cousin posted from their wedding last year.
Then, at the very top of her inbox, a new message appeared. No name. No number.
Just this:
“He’s not who you think he is.”
Colleen froze.
Her thumb hovered, unwilling to press into the screen, as if that would make it real. Her heart stuttered once, then twice. A joke, maybe? A troll? She clicked on the sender — unknown. No profile picture. No username.
She re-read it. Once. Twice. Her chest tightened.
Behind the door, Andrei was singing, water running. The sound that usually comforted her now felt… distant. Like a lie.
She quickly locked her phone and placed it face down on the bedside table. The breakfast tray now felt too heavy on her lap.
Her mind raced, uninvited thoughts clawing their way into her memory. The times he didn’t answer right away. The one time she found a lipstick smudge on his hand and he said it was from a workmate’s cheek kiss. How he never let her see his work inbox.
No. No, Andrei wouldn’t—
But she wasn’t sure anymore.
When he came back out, hair wet and towel slung over his neck, he grinned and asked, “So, what’s the verdict? Worth the risk of kitchen disaster?”
Colleen blinked. She smiled — practiced, polished.
“Yeah,” she said. “Perfect.”
But her chest ached.
Because for the first time in seven years, Colleen wasn’t sure who she was lying to more — Andrei… or herself.
