Chapter 1
The Side Where the Moon Shines
Nil had always loved the way Liana laughed—with her whole face, like sunshine breaking through clouds. She was warmth. Motion. A burst of color in his grayscale world.
They met in art school, where Nil sketched in the back of the room and Liana danced through life like she owned the sky. She called him *“the moonboy”* because he always stared out the window, chasing thoughts no one else could see.
He didn’t mind.
“You’re like...quiet magic,” she once told him.
He smiled then—only for her.
Over the years, their bond deepened. She’d call him at 2 AM with stories about boys who broke her heart, dreams she wanted to chase, and cities she longed to run to. Nil listened. Always.
And every time she left his apartment, he’d open his sketchbook and draw her again—always from memory, always smiling.
He never told her.
Then came *Adrian*. Liana met him at a photography exhibit. He was funny, bold, the kind of man who took up space and made the world notice. She fell fast. Nil saw it in her eyes—the stars she used to hide behind her jokes were suddenly real.
One evening, as they sat on the rooftop watching the city glow, Liana whispered:
> “I think I’m in love, Nil.”
His heart didn’t break—it just...quietly folded in on itself.
> “He’s lucky,” he said.
> “You think so?”
> “I know so.”
The next week, Nil finished his final painting for an upcoming gallery show. It was called *“Liana Through Light”*—a canvas filled with pieces of her: the scarf she always wore, her chipped blue nail polish, her laughter painted in swirls of yellow and pink.
Liana came to the opening. She stood in front of the painting for a long time, silent.
> “Is this...me?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
Nil just smiled.
> “It’s how I see you.”
She turned to him, eyes wide and soft. For a second, he thought—maybe...
But then Adrian walked in. She ran to him, her hand slipping into his without hesitation.
Nil didn’t cry. He just watched her go.
Years later, Nil became a renowned artist. But he never painted Liana again.
He didn’t need to.
She had already filled his most honest canvas—the side where the moon always shines, quiet and full of love,
