The Mask We Wear

Soren (Episode 4)

The break felt like a sanctuary, a brief escape from the suffocating pressures of Ashbourne. Every second I spent at home, I felt my heart begin to settle, like I was able to breathe freely again. The expectations that loomed over me at Ashbourne seemed to melt away as I spent time in the comfort of my own room. Home wasn’t just a place; it was a reprieve from the world that demanded too much of me.

The familiarity of my surroundings grounded me. The smell of freshly brewed coffee in the mornings, my mother’s framed photographs still hanging on the walls, and the sounds of the city filtering in through my window gave me a sense of calm that I hadn’t felt in a long time. It felt like I had returned to a world where things made sense, where I wasn’t constantly being tested or scrutinized.

But then the ten days passed in the blink of an eye. I had counted on those days to stretch, for time to slow down just long enough for me to prepare myself mentally. It didn’t. Each morning I woke up, the impending return loomed larger in my mind. By the last day, the weight was almost unbearable. I felt as though I was walking toward my own execution.

Seth and I packed our bags in silence that evening. There were no words to express how reluctant I was to go back. My father’s stern voice echoed in my mind: “You’re strong, Soren. You’ll make it through Ashbourne. It’s a test of character.” He didn’t understand that it wasn’t just my character being tested—it was my entire sense of self.

It wasn’t only the academy that weighed heavily on me; it was the looming expectations of my father. He wanted me to succeed, not just for my sake, but for his. His name carried weight, and I had to carry that same weight at Ashbourne. There was no room for failure. No room to show that I was struggling, that I didn’t want this as much as he did. How could I tell him that the dream wasn’t mine?

Before bed, I decided to visit the men's salon. The urge to do something different gripped me, and I found myself asking for a brown dye. The stylist applied it carefully, and when I saw myself in the mirror, I felt a surge of satisfaction. The brown hair felt like a symbol of rebellion, of the control I had lost over my own life. When I returned home, my father was livid. I had anticipated it but didn’t care.

“You know this isn’t allowed at Ashbourne,” he barked, his eyes glaring at me as though I had committed some grave crime.

“I don’t care. I wanted them brown. I’m not changing it back.”

We exchanged harsh words, but in the end, he relented after a conversation with Mr. Khattak. That was my father’s way—always ready to use his influence to bend the rules in my favor. It frustrated me to no end because it felt like I never truly had to face the consequences of my actions. Still, for once, I appreciated it. My brown hair was something I wasn’t willing to compromise on. It was a small thing, but it was mine. Something I could control.

That night, as I lay in bed, I felt a strange sense of dread. I knew the next morning would bring the end of my temporary freedom. The weight of Ashbourne’s expectations, the suffocating hierarchy, and the constant pressure to be perfect were waiting for me.
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The next morning was painful. There was a hollow pit in my stomach as I packed the last few things into my bag. Seth was quiet too. He had grown used to the environment at Ashbourne, but I could sense a hint of reluctance in him as well. We both knew the life we were returning to, one where we had no choice but to adapt, no matter how much we wished we didn’t have to.

Morning came too quickly. Seth and I left home with our bags, neither of us speaking much. The car ride back to Ashbourne was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. My mind was swirling with a mix of emotions—resentment, frustration, and a dull, persistent anxiety that sat heavy in my chest.
As we pulled up to the gates, I felt that familiar wave of dread wash over me. The towering buildings of Ashbourne Academy loomed ahead, a stark reminder of everything I hated about this place. The weight on my chest grew heavier as we entered the campus grounds. I wanted to turn around and run, but there was nowhere to go.
Walking back to my dorm, I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact with the other students who had already returned. The air felt thick, as though the very atmosphere of Ashbourne carried with it the collective stress and anxiety of everyone trapped here. My chest tightened, and I thought I might throw up. The feeling was so overwhelming that I paused for a moment outside the dorm entrance, breathing deeply to steady myself.
The familiar hallways were as cold and impersonal as ever. The same dull grey walls, the same rigid routines, the same enforced silence after curfew. It was as though time had frozen, trapping us all in a perpetual state of anticipation, waiting for the next order, the next challenge, the next test of our worth.
I glanced up and noticed Seth walking ahead, already adjusting, moving through the world as if nothing bothered him. That was Seth’s strength. He adapted, found a way to blend into whatever environment he was in. I envied that about him. For me, everything felt like a fight—against myself, against the system, against the expectations that were always too high.
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Inside the dorm, my two dormmates were already there, chatting easily as they unpacked. As I entered, they greeted me warmly and offered a hug, but I merely shook their hands. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the gesture, but I had always been reserved when it came to personal space. Hugging wasn’t something I did unless it really meant something.