Dhruve had always believed control could protect him.If he could predict every reaction, measure every heartbeat, mirror every smile — then no one could ever break him again.
But lately, something felt off.He couldn't tell where the performance ended and where he began.
It started with Priya's message that morning: "Can I see you tonight? I need to talk."He stared at it for a full minute, sipping his coffee.The old him — the careful one — would've thought before replying. But this time, his thumb moved on its own."Yeah. Come by."
The hours between that text and her arrival stretched like shadows.He caught himself replaying her laughter in his head, the way her hair fell over her face, how she looked at him like he wasn't broken. It made something stir inside him — something he didn't want to name.
When she arrived, he didn't open the door right away.He stood behind it, breathing slowly, preparing himself. He didn't want to feel. Not again.
"Dhruve?" she called softly, knocking again.He finally opened. She looked nervous, her eyes glossy from unshed tears. "I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I shouldn't just come over like this, but—"
He cut her off gently. "Come in."
She stepped inside, fidgeting with her hands.The silence between them was thick. The hum of the fridge, the ticking of the wall clock — everything felt louder.She finally exhaled, whispering, "I think I'm falling for you."
Dhruve froze.There it was — the sentence he used to dream about once, before his world turned to ash.But now it didn't sound like a dream. It sounded like a fucking trap.
"Don't," he said softly. "You don't know me, Priya."Her voice trembled. "I do. You think you're hard to read, but you're not. You act cold, but I can feel how much pain you carry."
He wanted to laugh — but it came out broken. "Pain isn't love, Priya."
"I know," she said, stepping closer, "but sometimes broken people fit together."
Her hand brushed his arm, hesitant but warm.For a second, he didn't move. The human part of him — the one buried under months of anger — wanted to reach out, hold her, just feel something real.But the other part — the part that had watched betrayal and recorded it like a lesson — whispered: Don't trust it. It's just another illusion.
He stepped back. "You should go."
Priya looked stunned. "Did I do something wrong?""No," he said quietly. "I just… can't."
Tears welled up in her eyes. "Why do you always hide behind that wall? You think it makes you strong, but it's just killing you."
Her words hit harder than he expected. He stayed silent.When she left, the door closed softly — but it sounded like thunder in his chest.
Dhruve stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space where she'd been.He whispered to no one, "Shit… what am I doing?"
He went to the mirror again — his nightly ritual.The reflection stared back with quiet accusation. "You think you're in control," it seemed to say, "but you're just scared."
He laughed bitterly. "Fuck you."The reflection smiled back — or maybe it didn't. He couldn't tell anymore.
He thought about the other women he'd been texting — the ones who called him "mysterious" and "different." They liked the version of him that didn't exist — the calm, deep, understanding man.And he let them believe it. Because every word they sent was like proof that he could still matter to someone — even if it was a lie.
He poured himself a drink, staring at the city lights again.Each one looked like a story he'd never live.He thought of Priya again — her trembling voice, her touch. And for the first time in months, guilt crawled up his throat.
"Maybe she didn't deserve that," he whispered. "Maybe none of them do."
But the next second, another thought crept in — dark, familiar, protective: No one deserved what happened to you either.
He sat down, covering his face.Somewhere deep inside, he could feel a crack forming — not in his mask, but in his core. All that control, all those games — they were supposed to protect him.Instead, they were starting to break him from the inside out.
He whispered to himself, voice low and shaking,"Maybe I don't know how to be human anymore."
The mirror across the room caught his reflection — shoulders slumped, eyes empty.For a second, he imagined Priya's reflection standing beside him — smiling softly like she used to. Then the image flickered away.
Dhruve looked down, muttering, "Yeah, the mirror cracks eventually."
He laughed once — short and tired — and took another drink.