Part three - The Mask Cracks

Sometimes that has to do with Perfect

Written by Kingson Das

(Based on a concept by a @Borrdcat)

Part Three — The Mask Cracks

The days that followed moved like a blur Aarohi couldn’t control.

The house filled with laughter again — brighter this time, louder. Relatives arrived with sweets and blessings. Neighbors whispered with admiration. Everywhere she went, she heard the same words.

“So proud of your sister.”

“What a perfect match.”

“Your family must be so happy.”

Aarohi nodded. Smiled. Agreed.

No one noticed how carefully she avoided mirrors. No one noticed how her hands trembled when she was alone. No one asked how she was sleeping — or if she was sleeping at all.

She became efficient at disappearing while standing right in front of everyone.

The engagement was announced publicly. Photos were taken. Kabir stood beside Ananya, his arm protective, his expression sincere. He played the role well.

Too well.

Aarohi watched from the side, clapping when required. Her parents stood proudly, greeting guests, accepting congratulations. They looked fulfilled — like everything had finally fallen into place.

And maybe it had.

Just not for her.

In the middle of all the celebration, an email arrived.

Her coronation ceremony.

The award she had worked toward for years. The recognition that was supposed to make everything worth it.

She read the message twice. Then a third time.

Nothing stirred inside her.

No excitement. No relief. No joy.

Only emptiness.

When she told her family, the reaction was instant — hugs, praise, tears of pride.

“This is why we pushed you,” her father said, gripping her shoulders.

“We always knew you’d make us proud.”

Her mother kissed her forehead. “See? Everything happens for a reason.”

Aarohi smiled.

The mask fit perfectly.

But at night, when the house slept, she sat on her bed staring at the wall, wondering when exactly she had stopped feeling like a person and started feeling like proof.

The ceremony day arrived dressed in light and celebration.

People with status and influence filled the hall. Cameras flashed. Names were announced. Applause echoed endlessly. Aarohi stood backstage while her mother adjusted her outfit, praising her beauty, her grace, her strength.

“You’re glowing,” Sunita said proudly.

Aarohi looked into the mirror.

The girl staring back at her was flawless.

And exhausted.

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she didn’t see the achiever everyone admired. She saw the child who learned to carry burdens silently. The girl who was loved for what she gave, not who she was.

Her name was called.

The crowd erupted.

With every step forward, the applause grew louder. She could see her father smiling — proud, satisfied. The same smile she had spent her entire life chasing.

She reached the stage.

The award was placed in front of her — a simple piece of paper, framed and glowing under the lights.

Years of effort.

Years of sacrifice.

Everything she was told to become.

She stared at it.

And felt nothing.

Her hands shook as she picked it up.

The silence crept in slowly as people realized something was wrong.

Aarohi stepped away from the podium.

Then she did the unthinkable.

(To be concluded in Part Four — Choosing Herself)