Shedding the Old Skin

The air in my small room felt different, thinner somehow. It was as if the walls themselves were exhaling, making space for something new to breathe. For weeks, I’d been walking through my days like a ghost, nodding and smiling at the right times, but my true self was a shy creature, hiding just behind my eyes, watching the performance. Now, though, the performance was starting to feel too heavy, the costume too tight.

It started with small things. The weekly coffee with Marcus, which used to be a comforting ritual, began to feel like an interrogation. He’d talk about his plans, the steady climb up the ladder at the local bank, the sensible car he was saving for, and I’d find myself staring at the condensation on my glass, my mind a million miles away.

“Elara? You with me?” Marcus’s voice was gentle, but it still pulled me back with a jarring tug.