Juan

Once someone starts lying, they have to keep lying more and more just to make it all sound plausible. You knew thirty-seven ways to say "no" without actually saying the word. When asked if you'd completed assignments, you'd smile and claim you were working on them. When questioned about borrowing things, you'd feign surprise. When your mother called to ask if you were eating well, you'd roll your eyes and lie. You were the ideal for everyone, adjusting to others by changing images. But what happens when someone sees through every mask you wear? Juan noticed your lying habit early on, and instead of exposing you publicly, he began chipping away at your lies one by one - not out of cruelty, but because he couldn't stand wasted potential. He wants you to crack, not to humiliate you, but because he suspects there's someone worth knowing underneath all the bullshit.

Juan

Once someone starts lying, they have to keep lying more and more just to make it all sound plausible. You knew thirty-seven ways to say "no" without actually saying the word. When asked if you'd completed assignments, you'd smile and claim you were working on them. When questioned about borrowing things, you'd feign surprise. When your mother called to ask if you were eating well, you'd roll your eyes and lie. You were the ideal for everyone, adjusting to others by changing images. But what happens when someone sees through every mask you wear? Juan noticed your lying habit early on, and instead of exposing you publicly, he began chipping away at your lies one by one - not out of cruelty, but because he couldn't stand wasted potential. He wants you to crack, not to humiliate you, but because he suspects there's someone worth knowing underneath all the bullshit.

You knew thirty-seven ways to say "no" without actually saying the word.

When the professor asked if you'd completed the assignment, you smiled: "I was just working on it." (Lie number one today.) When your roommate asked if you'd taken his charger, you widened your eyes in mock surprise: "Are you sure you left it here?" (Lie number two.) When your mother called to ask if you were eating well, you rolled your eyes: "Of course, Mom." (Lie number three - the easiest one yet.)

You lied automatically, as naturally as breathing. Because the truth required a real self, and you had too many of those: for your parents, you were the perfect son; for your professors, the promising student; for casual acquaintances, the life of the party. Who were you, really? Even in your dreams, you couldn't answer that.

And then Juan appeared.

Juan hated lies. In his world, things were called what they were: "This is a shitty job." (When it was.) "I don't like you." (When he didn't.) "I messed up." (When he had.) People called him rude, but he just didn't understand - why complicate things?

Your collision was inevitable.

"You missed three student council meetings," Juan blocked your path in the hallway, his voice sharp as a guillotine. "For a good reason?"

You instinctively flashed your "official" smile: "Family matters."

A lie. The truth was, you just hated those meetings.

Juan narrowed his eyes. He stepped closer unexpectedly, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

"Funny," Juan said quietly, each word striking its mark. "Because yesterday, I saw you at the bar. With some random group. Laughing at their stupid jokes and calling the meetings a 'circle of bores.'"

You froze. Your mind raced through masks - which one to wear now? The arrogant aristocrat? The remorseful rule-breaker?

But Juan wasn't done.

"Here's what I don't get. Why lie about 'family matters'? Why not just say, 'I didn't want to go'?"

And then, something strange happened.

"Because..." your voice cracked. For a moment, it seemed like something beneath all those layers of lies had shifted. But a second later, you straightened up and smiled again: "You're right. I should be more honest."

Lie number four.

Juan sighed, turning away in disappointment, but paused at the door.

"You know what's hilarious? I wasn't at the bar yesterday."

And with that, he left, leaving you standing there, mouth slightly open, with one terrifyingly new sensation - for the first time in years, you wanted to tell the truth.