Shades of Perception

My breath hitched, a sudden chill prickling my skin, and I pressed my hands flat against the cool tablecloth, trying to still their trembling. He was going to say it, wasn’t he? That the chasm between our worlds was too vast, that his vibrant existence couldn’t coexist with my grey one.”

“You know, Elara, it’s always struck me. Seven notes, seven colours. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it?” Liam asked, his voice a touch too loud for the hushed murmur of The Chiaroscuro Restaurant. The restaurant’s shades of grey created a muted, atmosphere that blended into the grey cityscape. Couples sat bathed in the warm glow of flickering candles, their conversations a gentle backdrop.

His eyes sparkled, cutting through the restaurant’s ambiance of soft cutlery clinks. Seven notes, seven colours. My gaze flickered to the pale rainbow visible through the window, a wash of muted greys. Was this the moment? A gentle preamble to a gentle goodbye? Liam’s expectant smile held, his eyes fixed on mine, as if waiting for a shared revelation. My fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass, the cool glass a stark contrast to the heat rising in my cheeks.

“Number seven has always fascinated me,” Liam continued, his voice hesitant. “It’s like it keeps popping up everywhere. Music, rainbows. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? And then, I met you.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You view the world in such a unique way, Elara. You find beauty in the simplest things, in the shadows and the silences. It’s inspiring.”

           My shoulders eased just a fraction. “You think so?” I asked, her voice a whisper.

Liam nodded, a gentle warmth in his eyes. “I do. I think you deserve to see the world in all its colours. I want to share that with you.”

The edges of the room blurred, and I gripped the edge of the table, a sudden lightness in my head making me sway slightly. This was it, the impossible choice. A life bathed in a spectrum I barely understood, or the certainty of my grey world, alone.

Liam’s pocket buzzed, a sharp, insistent sound. He pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen, and his expression tightened. With a curt tap, he silenced the ringing and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

“You could have taken that,” I offered, though I sensed his reluctance.

“Just someone being persistent,” he said, his tone clipped. “She doesn’t seem to get the message.” He shifted in his seat, his gaze fixed on a point beyond my shoulder, a rigidity in his posture that warned against further questions

“I know it’s a big decision,” Liam continued, his voice soft. “But I believe in you, Elara. I believe that together, we can create something extraordinary.”

           The tips of my ears burned, and I lowered my gaze, suddenly self-conscious. He gestured towards the window. Here we go. I bit down on my lip, the corner of my mouth jumping.

           He swept his hand across the panorama, as if trying to paint a picture of a world beyond its shades. “Imagine, in my land of Vibrantia, a thousand instruments, a symphony of light and sound. Streets alive with a dance of shimmering colours.”

“It’s just a thought, but do you think there’s something to the whole seven notes, seven colours thing? It seems like too much of a coincidence. When I look at a rainbow, I see all those colours, and it reminds me of a full orchestra. But I know you see it differently.” He makes it sound like I’m missing out. Like my entire world is a lesser version of his. Two years. Two years of late-night blog chats of shared passions… and now, this? My knuckles ached, the pale skin stretched tight across them, as if I were clinging to a ledge. Liam’s words, so full of promise moments before, now felt like a cruel joke. I clenched my jaw, the muscles tightening. 

“It’s not a bass line,” I retorted, my voice tight. “I see seven shades of a rainbow. It’s a symphony in its own right. We find beauty in the nuances of grey, as you find it in colour. We find comfort in the calm of dove grey, strength in the depth of charcoal. Each shade tells a story.”

           Liam’s fingers drummed a frantic beat on the table. He expelled a breath, a soft, defeated sound. “To me, those are all colours,” I said, my voice rising. “Just different ones.” He just doesn’t get it. He wants to change me. “I saw the colours when I visited Vibrantia. So much vibrancy.”

           “Was it overwhelming for you?” Liam asked, his voice soft.

 I hesitated, my gaze drifting to the cityscape. “No” I said. “Just a feeling of overstimulation.”

           Liam waited, his eyes searching mine, as if trying to decipher something hidden. “Something gets lost in all that vibrancy,” I finished, my voice a whisper.

A moment of silence settled between us. I watched his brow furrow, a line appearing between his eyes. “What could possibly get lost?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

           I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “Well,” I began, “I saw a lot of photographs taken in black and white when I was there. Why would they do that?”

“Probably because it evokes a sense of timelessness and nostalgia.”

“Colour photography copies reality. But black and white photography interprets it. It shows you the heart of an image, which is why it stirs more emotion.”

           Liam’s gaze drifted to the table, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. This is it. A chill spread through my limbs. He’s going to tell me we’re too different.

To bridge the gap, I added. “By removing colour, attention focuses on the fundamental elements. The interplay of light and shadow. It’s a deeper appreciation. Why do you think brides always have photos in black and white?”

           He looked up, his expression softened, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his eyes. “I never thought of it that way.” He held my gaze, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. My lips curved in response.

           Then he leaned forward, his expression softening. “Your russet grey hair has a richness. And those freckles… constellations.”

 Constellations? Is he being serious, or just trying to smooth things over? My cheeks flushed, a sudden heat. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice betraying my composure. “You’re handsome, and I am glad to see you’re getting it.”

The way he tilted his head, the slight widening of his eyes, painted a clearer picture than any verbal confirmation. A slow, dawning comprehension spread across his face.

           “Handsome?” A playful glint lit his eyes, his chest rumbling with a self-deprecating chuckle. “You’re lucky you only see my monochrome version. In colour, well, let’s say my crop-cut hair isn’t as dashing as yours. And my freckles. More like a topographical map of a bumpy potato.”

           Laughter filled the air, chasing away the tension.

           His gaze dropped to the table. “I didn’t mean to diminish your experience. I was so eager to be here, to share… to show what I see. But I was mistaken. I got caught up in the colours and forgot to appreciate the beauty you already have.” He reached across the table, his fingers hovering over mine. “Two years of building this connection, Elara. I don’t want to lose that because I preoccupied myself with showing off my world.”

           The words caught in my throat, each syllable a strained whisper that barely disturbed the quiet. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you, Liam. But it feels… fractured. Like a beautiful melody played on a broken instrument.”

“It’s not broken,” he said, his hand closing over mine. “It’s different, and I need to learn to appreciate that difference. I was so busy trying to show you what you lacked, I missed what you already had.”

           We sat in silence for a moment, the tension dissipating. “Can we start again?” he asked. “Can we talk about the music like we used to, and I can try to understand your world better?”

“Perhaps,” I said, hope stirring. “Maybe we can.” I smoothed a stray cuticle, the small, repetitive motion a way to ground myself as a tentative sense of possibility bloomed between us.

Our waitress approached. “A ribeye, cooked to obsidian grey for the lady, and a rump, medium ash for the gentleman,” she announced. She refilled our wine glasses with a deep, warm, grey wine.

           “Looks a bit drab,” Liam rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly tremor.

           The waitress leaned in, her voice a murmur. “They don’t always understand, do they?” Her eyes held mine. Then her eyes rolled as she glanced at Liam.

           Liam’s jaw tightened, a subtle clench that betrayed his unease.

           “Sorry about that,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s just… Monochromians, we get a little defensive when we feel our perceptions are being questioned.”

           I needed a distraction, something to break the silence. I reached for my phone and tapped ‘play’ on the music app. Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 in G major began. A shimmering wave of sound cut through the grey like a beam of light. Heads turned, then relaxed as people recognised the familiar baroque melody. The dim lighting and music pushed back the shadows of our conflict.

           Liam’s smile deepened as he watched the other patrons. He turned to me, a note of surprise in his voice. “They really like this,” he said. “In Vibrantia, they’d be asking for something with a faster beat, something louder.”

I nodded. “In Monochromia, we appreciate the subtleties.” A quiet sense of triumph eased the tension in my shoulders.

           I took a breath, trying to steady my voice. “In shades of grey, this concerto looks like a dynamic and evocative landscape of shifting light and shadow, a symphony of textures and movements that captures the emotional essence of the music. How does this concerto look to you?” I asked, hoping he could bridge the divide.

           As the music swelled, his gaze drifted to me. The hard lines around his eyes eased, replaced by a gentle curiosity. His breath coming in slow, measured breaths, he closed his eyes. After a long, tense moment, he opened them again, a soft smile on his lips. He turned to me, his eyes alight with a newfound understanding. “Like a sunlit meadow,” he said, his gaze searching mine, “filled with dazzling green foliage and golden flowers, with a clear blue sky overhead. But I’m liking your description better.”

 Liam paused, letting the music envelop them. He then inclined his head towards the other patrons. “Look, Elara,” he murmured, his voice a hushed whisper. “See how they… drift?” He gestured showing the near-synchronised swaying of the diners, the soft, vacant expressions on their faces, as if submerged in the sound.

           He sees it. He actually sees it. The tightness in my chest eased, and I felt a lightness spread through my limbs. A flicker of awe, a dawning comprehension, transformed his gaze.

“You see it now, don’t you?” I asked, my voice barely audible. “You’re beginning to feel it, too.” Please, let this be a turning point.

Liam’s gaze shifted back to me, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It’s the music,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “That’s what brought us together, wasn’t it? Our shared love for baroque. And here,” he gestured around the room, “here, without distracting colour, I understand. I feel it too.” He paused. “Perhaps this is why you brought me here.”

           My eyes stung, a single tear threatening to spill, a fragile promise of understanding. The shared musical description was a small bridge. But the image of the bridge cracking under my feet, leaving me stranded, flashed in my mind..

           A wave of something sweet and artificial cut through the smell of the steak, drawing my eyes to the door. A woman entered. Her presence was a jarring contrast to the muted tones of the room. Her iridescent clothing shimmered, and she swayed slightly. She moved with an unsteady sway. Her gaze swept the room, pausing on others, but lingering, with an almost desperate intensity, on Liam. A wide, unfocused smile spread across her face.

”Darrrling.” Her voice lingered on his name, a soft purr that was almost lost in the slurring.

           “Hello Agnes,” Liam said, a note of weariness in his tone. “What are you doing in Monochromia?”

           “I heard you were spending time here,” she mumbled, pushing past a group of patrons, their heads turning with a mix of curiosity and disapproval. She slid into the booth, her shoulder pressing against Liam’s. Her fingers traced the line of his arm. “You weren’t answering your calls,” she mumbled. Her eyes flicked to me with a dismissive glance.

“Couldn’t stay away. And who’s this… shade?”

I clenched my wine glass, remembering Liam’s earlier dismissed phone call.

           Liam’s spine straightened, his grip on my hand tightening. “This is Elara,” he said, his voice strained. “She’s from here.”

Agnes tightened her smile; a flicker of hurt, or perhaps annoyance, shone in her eyes. “Ah, yes.” Her gaze lingered on me a moment too long before she looked away. “The grey life. We Vibrantians, darling. We live.” Her gaze flicked to me, a flash of something hard to define. “Surely you’re not bored, Liam?”

 My pulse quickened. Will he defend me, or will he try to placate her?

           Liam pushed her arm away, his voice firm. “I won’t tolerate you speaking to Elara like that, Agnes.” He paused, his gaze hardening. “That night was a mistake. You know I let you stay because you were in no fit state to travel home.”

           The murmur of conversations dropped, and I saw heads turn, eyes shifting in our direction. My breath caught. He’s defending me. I felt a surge of unexpected heat in my cheeks.

           Agnes blinked, her smile fading. She let out a forced laugh. “Oh, whatever Liam.” She swayed from the booth, her eyes lingering on him with a hint of regret and a desperate hope he would follow. Then she swayed away.

           The echo of the slammed door reverberated through the restaurant. The air thickened, the clinking of cutlery and quiet conversations fading into a hush that pressed against my ears. Now what? “After everything. The question wasn’t a question at all. It was a ledge, and I was peering into a void. My breath hitched, a silent plea for an answer that wouldn’t shatter me.

           Liam shifted, his eyes drifting away, then back. A ghost of a smile brushed his lips. “Well,” he said. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled the screen. “Listen to this. This is how I see you now. This piece makes me think of moonlight, of how even in the darkness, there are so many shades of light.”

He tapped the screen. The strains of Claude Debussy - Clair de Lune filled the air, a delicate, ethereal sound that contrasted with the earlier tension. Liam’s eyes met mine, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. He didn’t need to speak. The gentle curve of his lips, the soft focus of his gaze, the quiet steadiness in his eyes held a promise that transcended words. The music was a shared language, a bridge between our two worlds.

#

Twelve weeks later, in our grey apartment, the scent of lavender and Corelli’s Concerti Grossi filled the air as Liam sat beside me. “Storm grey, or dove?” Liam asked, holding up a sketch.

“Storm,” I said, and he nodded, making a note. “You’re getting good at this.”

He chuckled. “Like learning a new language.”

I smiled. Outside, the city lights cast long grey shadows, painting the streets in shades of charcoal and ash. It was our world, a quiet harmony of greys, uniquely ours.