I Lied to Someone I Love
It eats at me every single day, a bitter pill I swallow with my morning chai. "I lied to someone I love." The words echo, heavy and true, and the weight of them crushes me. It’s Papa. My kind, trusting Papa, who worked tirelessly, bending his back for decades so I could have a better life, a better job. He glows with pride when he talks about my "successful career" in Mumbai, the one I painted for him, brushstroke by careful, deceitful brushstroke.
The truth? I lost that big corporate job six months ago. The pressure, the long hours, the constant demands… I just couldn't keep up. But how could I tell him? His heart is so fragile, his hopes so high. I saw the sparkle in his eyes when I told him I got promoted, when I sent a little extra money home, claiming it was a bonus. Each lie felt like a tiny cut, but less painful than the thought of seeing his face fall, his dreams for me shatter. I just wanted him to be proud.
Now, I scramble with odd freelance gigs, barely making rent in this expensive city. Every phone call is an act, a performance. "Yes, Papa, office was busy." "No, Papa, can't visit this month, too much work." My voice, light and cheerful, hides the knot of fear in my stomach. What if he finds out? What if one day, he sees through my charade? The thought paralyses me. He deserves the truth, he deserves a son who doesn't deceive him. But I’m terrified. Terrified of the disappointment, terrified of losing that unwavering faith he has in me. I love him so much, and this lie, meant to protect him, is slowly destroying me.
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