As soon as the door clicks behind me, I don’t hesitate. I rush straight to my room, feeling the walls closing in, the weight of the past hours pressing down on me. I can’t breathe with him in the same space, can’t stand to be near the man who’s turned my life into a twisted game. He’s so sure of himself, so smug in his power, and I’m just... here. Trapped.

I slam the door shut behind me, leaning against it for a moment to catch my breath, but even as I do, I know I’m not really alone—not in the way I need. Not when every corner of this house feels like it’s been carved into a reminder of him.

I freshen up quickly, not giving myself the luxury of thinking about how much of my soul’s been chipped away these last few days. I can feel the exhaustion pulling at me, but I refuse to let it have me. Not now. I need a moment—just a moment to breathe.

I collapse onto the bed, trying to relax, but my body’s been coiled too tightly for too long. I tell myself to close my eyes, to forget everything that happened today. Forget the kidnapper, the bracelet, the lies, the endless cycle of pain and manipulation. But before I can even reach for the calm, something else happens.

The lights go out.

It’s sudden. A sharp flicker, then darkness, as though the world outside has vanished, leaving me in an abyss. I freeze.

I used to be afraid of the dark. Not anymore. Not after everything. But tonight? Tonight’s different.

I can feel the fear creeping in again, clawing at me. It’s ridiculous, I tell myself. I’m supposed to be stronger than this. But as the coldness of the shadows wraps itself around me, I realize something—the fear is still there.

I snort, trying to make light of it, trying to push the panic down. “Come on, Samaira. You’ve been through worse, right?” I mutter to myself. “It’s just a little darkness. It’s not like there’s a creepy guy waiting to pop out from under the bed… Or is there? Maybe I should just grab a flashlight, take a walk through the house, and pretend nothing’s wrong.”

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping. “Really, Samaira? Are you seriously trying to talk yourself down from fear with that kind of humor?”

The silence is oppressive, like the walls are pressing in from all sides. My hands tremble, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to hold back the overwhelming sensation of helplessness.

The fear is creeping up my spine again, stealing the air from my lungs. It was supposed to be gone—like a childish phase I’d grown out of—but no. Of course not. Fear doesn’t just disappear, especially when your life’s a trainwreck.

The lights flicker again, and for a split second, I think I hear something move outside the room.

I sit up straight, my heart pounding. No, no, no. I’m not going to let this happen. I’m not going to let the dark take me again.

But it’s getting harder to fight. My pulse is racing, my hands are ice cold, and my mind is spinning. I try to focus, breathe deeply, but all I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears. The darkness is thick, suffocating, as if it’s breathing with me.

I stand up, pacing, trying to keep it together. “This is just the stress getting to me. The fear from today. I’m not going crazy. There’s nothing in the dark. It’s all in your head, Samaira. All in your head.”

But the more I speak, the more the weight of it all presses down on me. I’m spiraling, trying to keep the sense of reality in place, but it feels impossible. It’s like the dark knows me, knows all my weaknesses, all my broken places, and now it’s coming back to finish what it started.

“Just a little more fun to add to your already messed-up life,” I mutter to myself, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

But still, the fear grows. It twists and writhes, like a living thing, coiling itself around my chest. I find myself wishing for the lights to come back on. Wishing for any distraction to take my mind off the endless darkness that now seems to consume every corner of this room.

I try to take control. I try to laugh at myself. You’re Samaira Singhania, for god’s sake. Get a grip. But as I stand there, trembling, waiting for the light to flicker back on, I realize something:

I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of what’s inside me—the things I’ve ignored, the things I’ve buried. And no amount of talking to myself or making jokes will ever make those demons go away.

But in the moment, all I can do is stand there, my chest heaving, my thoughts swirling in the darkness, knowing there’s no escape—at least not yet.

And, for the first time in a long while, I wish I could just stop pretending.

Stop pretending that I’m okay.

Stop pretending that fear doesn’t own me, at least a little bit.