Episode 3: Fractured Bonds

Morning arrived without relief. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, but it did nothing to ease the heaviness Soumya felt in her chest. She sat at the dining table, stirring her tea absentmindedly while Kriti moved around the kitchen, pretending that everything was normal.

Neither of them spoke at first.

“You didn’t sleep again, did you?” Kriti asked finally, setting a plate in front of her.

Soumya shrugged. “I was fine.”

Kriti paused. “Soumya, you don’t have to pretend with me.”

That was when the tension surfaced—quiet but sharp.

“I’m not pretending,” Soumya said defensively. “You just don’t understand.”

Kriti sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I am trying to understand. But you keep pushing everyone away. Last night at dinner—”

“Don’t bring that up,” Soumya snapped, standing abruptly. “He didn’t believe me. Just like you don’t.”

“That’s not true,” Kriti replied firmly. “I believe you. I just don’t believe what you’re seeing.”

The words hung between them.

Soumya’s hands trembled. “So you think I’m lying?”

“No,” Kriti said gently. “I think you’re struggling. And I think you need help.”

That sentence felt like an accusation.

“I don’t need fixing,” Soumya said coldly. She grabbed her bag and walked out before Kriti could stop her.

Later that afternoon, Soumya met her friends at a café near their office. The atmosphere was tense from the moment she arrived. Conversations stopped when she sat down.

One of them finally spoke. “We were worried about you.”

Soumya forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

Another friend exchanged glances with the others. “Last night was… intense.”

“He broke up with me,” Soumya said flatly.

Silence followed.

“We think,” one of them began carefully, “that maybe you overreacted.”

Soumya’s chest tightened. “You think I imagined it too.”

No one answered directly, and that was answer enough.

“You all saw how scared I was,” she said, her voice shaking. “Does that mean nothing?”

“We just think you should talk to someone,” a friend said softly.

The familiar words stung again.

Soumya stood up. “So now everyone thinks I’m the problem.”

She left before anyone could respond.

As she walked through the crowded streets, the city felt hostile—faces passing without notice, sounds blending into noise. The feeling returned, creeping into her thoughts. She sensed eyes on her back, footsteps matching hers.

She turned suddenly.

Nothing.

By the time she reached home, her head ached from holding herself together. Kriti was waiting.

“You left without saying anything,” Kriti said, trying to stay calm.

“Just like everyone else,” Soumya replied bitterly. “You all think I’m unstable.”

Kriti stepped closer. “No. I think you’re hurting.”

Soumya laughed weakly. “Friends leave. Boyfriends leave. Soon you will too.”

“That’s not fair,” Kriti said, her voice breaking slightly. “I stay. Every day. Even when you shut me out.”

Soumya froze.

“I’m scared for you,” Kriti continued. “Not because you’re weak—but because you’re facing this alone.”

Tears filled Soumya’s eyes, but she turned away. Admitting fear felt worse than the fear itself.

That night, lying awake, Soumya realised the hardest part of Another World wasn’t the presence or the sounds.