Mislabelled

Mislabelled

One Hour Earlier

“Look at that hollow heart,” I whispered to Layla as we waited for the Heart-Smith. “It looks starved.”

Seventy-seven hearts lined the wall, each a different colour, each in its own state.

“I really like that double-layered heart,” Layla said, loudly as always.

When I brushed one, it shivered, and a ripple passed through the others.

“They weren’t like this yesterday,” I said. “Not when I came with Adam.”

“They reveal the state of your heart in this very moment,” the Heart-Smith said as he entered. “You were too preoccupied to notice.”

“Was I?”

He smiled and led me to the far-right corner, where the seat marked 'The Witness' awaited.

Then he turned to Layla. “Sit here,” he said.

In the quiet space between them, an image of Layla’s heart formed—hovering midair, red, steady, and serene, as if it had never known doubt.

“Adam?” the Heart-Smith asked.

I watched the heart. For a moment, it seemed poised to reveal something—then it didn’t.

Layla smoothed her sleeve and smiled softly.

~

Yesterday

Adam’s heart fluttered away from him—blue and unsteady, as if too tired to keep going.

“Your heart denies your claim,” the Heart-Smith said.

“Then my heart is lying,” Adam replied. “It has before.”

He looked at me, nodding faintly, as if I were on his side.

I didn’t respond.

“I love her,” Adam said.

His heart flickered once.

“I love who I am with her.”

The heart turned left—slowly, against time.

“Memories,” the Heart-Smith said.

“Yeah,” Adam murmured. “We had many.”

He leaned forward, his face brightening with a joy his heart refused to follow.

“There’s one moment I keep returning to,” he said. “Last year’s annual meeting. I arrived early, helped set everything up. She came just before it began.”

He smiled faintly, as if the memory itself were proof.

His heart trembled—deep blue, a faint red flicker struggling to surface.

“She has this… presence, like a queen. Everyone notices.”

The Heart-Smith’s smile remained unchanged.

“I was tired,” Adam said. “I sat in the front row. I never do that—I usually pick the edge. Less attention.”

He inhaled sharply.

“When I opened my eyes… she was there. Right beside me.”

His heart trembled again, the blue deepening, the red flaring briefly.

“Layla?” the Heart-Smith asked.

“My love. She chose that seat.”

He turned slightly, bright with childlike excitement.

“All the seats were empty. She could’ve sat anywhere.”

The heart pulsed sharper now—dark blue, spinning faster, a brief crimson glint.

“It’s a sign,” Adam said. “She wants what I want. She just hasn’t realized it yet.”

He nodded, certain.

“She looked at me. I had always got lost in her eyes. ‘The view is better from here,’ she said, softly.”

“You usually pick the edge,” the Heart-Smith said.

“But she was right. The view is better from the front row. Besides… Layla and I think alike—almost exactly alike.”

The heart faded to a soft, pale blue.

“We never say it outright,” he continued. “But we finish each other’s sentences. Kind of. I… finish hers. Always!”

The heart quivered crimson for a heartbeat—as if to cry out—then sank back into grey-blue silence.

A thin green line traced its edge, moving deliberately against the spin.

“There is always someone else,” the Heart-Smith said.

Adam’s jaw tightened.

“No, not someone," he said. "No one is closer to Layla than I am. We sit together for hours. I talk—she listens. That’s all I—we—need.”

The green line thickened, creeping further over the blue.

“When he arrived—her supervisor—she seemed interested. A little… excited.”

He hesitated, his face tightening as if resisting something unseen.

“Yes, she went to him—but that’s just politeness. Office etiquette. You know how it works.”

He paused.

“They talked for a while, then he said something that made her laugh.”

“You can make her laugh,” the Heart-Smith said.

“I don’t need to,” Adam replied quickly. “We’re not like that. We don’t perform.”

The green tightened.

“What we have… is different.”

The heart throbbed beneath the green—tense, restless, defiant.

The Heart-Smith held his gaze on him a moment longer.

Adam raised a hand to cover his face. The other hovered, unsure where to rest, then dropped.

“How hurtful a word can be,” the Heart-Smith said, letting it linger.

Adam leaned back, forcing calm. “People sometimes say things they don't actually mean,” he murmured.

The heart slowed—its colours fading.

“When?” the Heart-Smith asked.

Adam exhaled. Tiny motes of blue fire flickered around his head, restless, uncontained.

“It wasn’t like that.”

The heart faded—blue drained, green dissolved—leaving only flat grey.

“We were with her friends,” Adam said. “They teased her… asking if something was going on between us.”

“And?”

“She laughed. She said—”

He faltered, his voice dropping.

“She said I was just a friend.”

The grey deepened.

Adam shook his head. “She didn’t mean it like that.”

The heart kept still.

“People simplify things when they’re not ready,” he added. “They pushed her—those so-called friends.”

A pause.

“She just said what was easier.”

~

The Now

Layla adjusted her sleeve, tilted her head slightly to the left, and smiled softly.

“Adam?” the Heart-Smith asked.

Her heart glowed—steady, effortless red, radiating a gentle warmth into the quiet space.

She ran her fingers through her hair, relaxed.

“He’s just a friend.”

~

“Layla told the Heart-Smith you’re just a friend,” I said. “I saw it yesterday.”

“Come on,” Adam said.

“I swear it.”

He raised his coffee cup between us—a porcelain shield.

“She won’t say it that easily,” he said. “You don’t understand Layla—she holds her feelings close. If I were her, I’d never say something like that so casually. Not to a stranger like the Heart-Smith.”

He sipped, then set the cup down between us, drawing an invisible line.

“So, you still believe she loves you?” I asked.

“Without a doubt.”

He tilted his head to the right, eyes drifting upward as his voice softened.

“She just hasn’t reached it yet.”

I glanced at the final image of Adam’s heart the Heart-Smith had given me.

It was black.

~~~