Episode 5: The Art Of Pretending

Soumya woke up before the alarm rang.

That itself felt suspicious.

Usually, mornings dragged her out of sleep like an unwanted obligation. But today, she lay staring at the ceiling, fully awake, her mind already racing. The fan above her rotated slowly, each turn slicing the air with a soft whirr. For a moment, she wondered if it was watching her too.

She shook the thought away.

Pretend, she told herself.

Just for today.

She got out of bed and stood in front of the mirror. Her reflection stared back—same face, same tired eyes, same faint darkness beneath them. Soumya leaned closer, searching for cracks, for signs that her mind was slipping again.

“Behave,” she muttered to her reflection.

The reflection behaved.

She brushed her hair neatly, chose a soft blue kurta, and even applied a little kajal. It felt strange, like dressing up for a role she wasn’t sure she remembered anymore. When she stepped into the kitchen, Kriti was already there, stirring tea absentmindedly.

Kriti looked up—and froze.

“You look… suspicious,” she said slowly.

Soumya smiled. “Is it illegal to look fine now?”

Kriti studied her like a detective. “Either you’re suddenly better, or you’re hiding something.”

Soumya shrugged and poured herself tea. “Can’t it be neither?”

Kriti snorted. “In this house? No.”

Soumya laughed. For a brief second, the sound felt real. Warm. Normal.

That scared her.

On the way to therapy, Mumbai felt louder than usual. Auto horns clashed like arguments. Street vendors shouted as if competing for her attention alone. Glass buildings reflected her image back at her—again and again—each reflection slightly different. One Soumya looked confident. Another looked exhausted. A third looked like she knew something the others didn’t.

She stopped looking.

The clinic smelled faintly of disinfectant and calmness. Soumya hated how calm it was. Calm spaces gave her thoughts too much room to move.

“So,” the doctor said, opening his notebook, “how have things been?”

“Better,” Soumya replied instantly.

Too instantly.

Kriti crossed her arms. The doctor paused, pen hovering.

“Better how?” he asked gently.

Soumya tilted her head. “The shadows are still there. The watching too. But I ignore them.”

The doctor nodded slowly. “Ignoring is useful for annoying relatives. Not for hallucinations.”

Soumya smirked. “Trust me, if sarcasm could cure me, I’d be discharged by now.”

Kriti covered her mouth to hide a laugh.

The doctor smiled faintly but scribbled something down. “Humour is good. Avoidance isn’t.”

Soumya nodded, pretending to listen while something tugged at her attention. The corner of the room felt darker than before. Not dark—aware.

She looked away.

That night, pretending became impossible.

Soumya sat on her bed scrolling through her phone, trying to distract herself, when a whisper slid into her thoughts—soft, amused, intimate.

Still acting?

Her fingers froze.

The shadow near her cupboard shifted slightly, like someone adjusting their stance after standing too long.

“Not today,” she muttered. “I had therapy.”

The shadow stayed.

A strange laugh escaped her—short, sharp, almost angry. “Fine,” she said loudly. “Watch. I’ll even perform.”

She stood up, bowed dramatically to the empty room, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my mental breakdown.”

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then fear rushed back in, cold and fast.

Her heart raced. Her breath shortened. The humour drained out of her like spilled water. Jokes didn’t scare it away. They never did.

She sank to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest.

“Kriti,” she whispered, not sure if she was calling out loud or only in her head.

Kriti found her like that minutes later.

Soumya didn’t look up. “Pretending makes it worse,” she said quietly. “It gets… annoyed.”

Kriti sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Then we stop pretending.”

Soumya closed her eyes. The whisper faded slightly—but not completely.

For the first time, she understood something clearly.

This wasn’t going away just because she wanted it to.

And that realization was far more frightening than any shadow in the room.

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