Some cracks you don't notice until you're already bleeding.And by then, it's too damn late to stop the cut.
That's what happened to me.
It wasn't some grand event or breakdown — just a slow, invisible unraveling.Like someone pulling at the edges of a thread, quiet but deliberate.
It started when Meera came back.I thought she'd moved on. I thought she'd forget.But people don't forget pain — they just wait for a chance to return it.
She walked into my office one afternoon, pretending it was about work.She looked different — colder, more distant.
"Hey," I said, forcing a casual smile.
"Hey," she replied, no warmth in her voice.Then she added, "Can we talk? Alone."
We stepped outside to the empty hallway.Her eyes were steady, but her voice trembled slightly.
"I know what you did," she said.
My chest tightened. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb, Dhruve. You made me feel safe, then ghosted me like I was some kind of experiment. You think I wouldn't figure it out?"
I didn't say anything. Because honestly, what could I say?That she was right? That she was just collateral damage in some twisted therapy I called self-healing?
She took a deep breath. "You know what the sad part is? I wasn't even mad at first. I was worried. I thought something happened to you. But then I realized — you wanted me to break."
"Meera, it's not like that—"
"It's exactly like that," she snapped. "You use people, Dhruve. You make them open up just so you can feel powerful again. But you're not powerful. You're fucking broken."
That last word — broken — hit harder than I expected.Because for a split second, I saw myself the way she did.And I hated it.
She turned to leave, but stopped."You think you're the only one who's been hurt? You think betrayal gives you a free pass to destroy everyone else?"
I couldn't answer.I just watched her walk away — slow, graceful, final.
Her heels echoed down the hallway, each step a reminder that maybe I wasn't the predator anymore. Maybe I was just another animal, trapped in my own cage.
That night, I drank more than usual.The city lights outside looked like stars falling — or maybe I was just too drunk to tell the difference.
I thought about calling Nisha. Or even Reya.But the truth is, I didn't want anyone.
I just wanted silence — the kind that doesn't judge, doesn't expect, doesn't ask why.
But silence doesn't heal you. It amplifies everything you've tried to bury.
Somewhere around 3 AM, I stood in front of the mirror again.It had become my confessional, my executioner.
I stared at my reflection, my eyes red, my jaw tight."You happy now?" I whispered. "You finally turned into the monster you were trying to outrun."
The mirror didn't answer — it just reflected every scar, every lie, every tired smile I'd sold to the world.
And suddenly, it hit me — every person I'd manipulated, every emotion I'd twisted, every ounce of control I'd fought for…It all started from one stupid afternoon.One fucking mistake.Leaving my phone at home.
If I hadn't gone back that day…Would I still be this person?Would I still be human?
I laughed. A sad, broken laugh."Guess it doesn't matter anymore."
Then I smashed the mirror.
The sound echoed through the apartment — sharp, final.Glass scattered across the floor like pieces of my reflection, glittering in the dim light.
I stared at them — hundreds of tiny me's staring back.Each one with a different expression.Each one judging.
The next morning, my hands were cut, bleeding slightly.Didn't even hurt much. Maybe I was just used to it — bleeding without feeling.
At work, everyone acted normal.Meetings. Coffee. Small talk.But I could feel something shifting — people whispering, watching.
Meera hadn't kept quiet.And honestly, I didn't blame her.
Let them talk.Let the image fall apart.
Because the truth was, I was tired of pretending to be composed.Tired of being the one pulling strings while my own life was hanging by one.
That night, I sat alone on the floor, a cigarette between my fingers, phone buzzing with unanswered messages.
I thought about how I used to believe control was strength.That if I could manipulate people, I'd never be hurt again.
But the truth?Every person I'd broken had taken a piece of me with them.
Meera.Nisha.Even Reya.
And now there wasn't much left.Just a man sitting in the dark, trying to smoke away the ghosts.
I looked at the cracked glass again —tiny reflections of the same man, scattered and bleeding light.
Maybe that's what I'd always been.Not broken, not whole —just pieces pretending to be one person.
And in the faint glow of the streetlight, I whispered,"Maybe this is what I deserve."