Ecoveen

Ecoveen

Chapter 1

It began quietly.

A soft car horn somewhere in the distance.

Carried across the warm breath of early evening, it slipped through the trees and settled

over the park like a sigh.

Lucian sat on an old wooden bench—

not the polished kind, but the sort worn smooth by time and quiet conversations.

Behind him ran a narrow gravel road, faintly curving, with small stones that crunched

under every passing step.

It led gently toward the main road—still distant, barely visible, but present like an idea just

forming.

Before him lay the lake.

Still.

Patient.

The water held a soft reflection of the sky above, where the color had just begun to

turn—blue giving way to violet, like a candle fading into smoke.

The far edge of the lake was lined with trees, their leaves touched gold by the sinking light.

Between the water and the bench stretched a clean, neatly cut patch of grass—vivid

green, soft like a carpet, as if the ground itself had been combed for quiet.

Above Lucian, the great May Time Tree stretched wide—its arms open, its trunk sturdy

and kind.

Its branches curled outward and upward, some hanging low with tired grace.

The leaves moved in the breeze with a sound like whispered thoughts.

And Lucian sat there—back straight, hands resting in his lap, face turned toward the

skyline.

He wasn’t in a hurry.

He wasn’t even waiting, not exactly.

He was just there.

Then—

“Excuse me…”

The voice wasn’t loud.

But it found him anyway.

Lucian turned.

She stood just a few steps away.

Young. Not more than twenty, perhaps.

Dark hair flowed down to her waist, catching what was left of the evening light.

There was a softness to her skin—like light diffused through clouds—and her eyes met his

with a kind of honest force that made the moment feel… slower.

Her hands were folded lightly in front of her. Shy hands. The kind that didn’t want to be in

the way.

“Excuse me, mister,” she said again, her voice warm but unsure.

“Could you please take that bag down for me?”

Lucian followed the line of her finger.

There, caught awkwardly on a low branch of the old tree, was a handbag.

Soft brown. Gold zippers. Gently swaying in the wind.

Lucian blinked. “That yours?”

She nodded, just once.

He looked at the bag again, then back at her, a small tilt to his head.

“I’ll get it down,” he said, “but it’ll cost you.”

She squinted. “Cost me?”

He gave a half-shrug, stepping toward the tree.

“Handbags don’t usually grow on trees. I want the story.”

“The story?”

Lucian stopped just beneath the branch. “Yeah. This one clearly has one. And I’m not sure

I believe you just yet.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “What if I don’t feel like telling it?”

He reached up, touched the strap, then paused.

“Then I might just toss it higher. Let the tree keep it. Or hand it to the next stranger who

walks by.”

She crossed her arms, playing along. “If you don’t give me that bag, I’ll scream.”

Lucian laughed softly.

“You can try. But I’ll vanish before your voice reaches the squirrels.”

“You’re not very helpful.”

“I’m not trying to be,” he replied, then gestured to the bag.

“I’ll give it to you… but you owe me the story.”

She folded her arms, still smiling.

“Fine. Deal.”

Lucian plucked the bag from the branch and held it just out of her reach.

“I’m listening.”

She sighed. Brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s my mother’s.”

Lucian didn’t speak. He waited.

“We were here earlier,” she said. “Same spot. We had a fight.”

He watched her face, but said nothing.

“She moves a lot,” she went on. “Her job takes her all over the world. New countries. New

cities. We never stay anywhere for long.”

She looked down.

“And now she’s leaving again. Tomorrow.”

Her fingers fidgeted slightly.

“I’m staying. Alone. No friends. No one. Just… here.”

She paused.

“So I got angry. Really angry. And I grabbed her bag and threw it into the tree.”

Lucian raised his eyebrows slightly.

“And now you’ve come back for it.”

“She threatened me,” she said.

He smiled. “How?”

“She said if I didn’t bring it back before she left, she’d cancel all my credit cards.”

Lucian let out a short laugh.

“Well. That’s one way to win an argument.”

Then, as if to himself, he added,

“Threatening people to get what you want… very diplomatic.”

She stopped. Her expression changed.

“…Wait. I didn’t say she was a diplomat.”

Lucian’s smile flickered. His posture stayed relaxed, but his eyes shifted—just slightly.

“I didn’t say you did,” he replied quickly.

“I just meant… diplomatic. You know, clever. Strategic. Parents can be like that.”

He waved a hand vaguely. Tried to shrug it off.

“I’m just listening.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Just looked at him.

Not fully convinced. Not entirely doubtful either.

Then she reached for the bag. He handed it over.

Their fingers touched, just briefly, as he gave it to her.

It was the faintest brush—bare skin meeting bare skin—but something in it lingered.

She looked at him. “Thank you,” she said, softly.

Then she turned.

She took a step—two, perhaps—and the moment threatened to slip away with her.

Lucian stood frozen.

Something inside him stirred—a silent alarm, a tug, a pull from somewhere deep.

He couldn’t let this pass. Not without a word. Not without a thread.

This was the moment. His moment.

“Wait,” he called.

She stopped. Turned slightly. Her eyes caught his.

“Yes?”

He stepped forward, clearing his throat with a sheepish calm. “Would you like to get a

coffee sometime?”

A quiet smile curved on her lips. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Exactly,” he replied. “That’s what I’d like to find out.”

She tilted her head in mock suspicion, then let the smile grow.

“Alright,” she said. “Why not?”

He smiled. “So… may I have your number?”

She hesitated, then shrugged with a soft laugh.

“I didn’t bring my phone. And honestly... I don’t even remember the number. It changes all

the time. I never keep track.”

She looked at him with a calm sort of certainty.

“But if you give me yours, I’ll call you.”

Lucian reached for his wallet, touched the edge of a clean business card—then stopped.

He thought for a moment, then pulled out a small, crumpled scrap of paper from his coat

pocket instead.

“I’m out of cards,” he said. “So here’s the analog version.”

He wrote his number carefully and handed it to her.

She unfolded her mother’s bag and slipped the paper inside, as if storing something worth

more than it appeared.

Then, without another word, she turned once more.

Lucian watched her.

She stepped lightly onto the gravel road, her shoes barely making a sound.

The sun, now low behind the lake, poured its light behind her—casting a soft golden glow

across the field.

Her figure moved forward, away from the lake, away from him,

gravel crunching beneath her, shoulders lifted, hair catching the last of the sun.

She passed the tree line,

crossed the neat grass that skirted the lake,

and walked toward the distant stretch of main road beyond.

It was a walk without hesitation.

But it wasn’t rushed.

It was the walk of someone who had more to say but chose not to.

Someone who had left a mark.

And then she disappeared.

Lucian turned back to the bench.

Sat down.

Lit a joint. Inhaled.

The smoke rose in slow spirals, curling through the branches of the May Time Tree above

him.

The sky had turned velvet now.

Not blue. Not black. Just soft.

Like the moment wanted to stay a little longer.

Lucian exhaled.

“What a beautiful girl,” he whispered.

And though the world didn’t answer,

the tree above rustled softly—

as if it had seen this before.

Because they had both lied.

Not cruelly.

Not completely.

But enough.

She hadn’t told him everything.

And he hadn’t said all he knew.

Yet somehow, something had begun.

Because sometimes, lies aren’t endings.

Sometimes, they’re beginnings.

They’re born from truth.

They circle it.

Bend it.

And lead it somewhere new.

Lies—the strange creators of what we come to believe.

They don’t just cover stories.

They make them.

And in this case

they made one.