Just A Friend?

Chapter Sixteen

"Ma'am, our shoot is scheduled to commence the day after tomorrow. I will send you an email with the venue and all other pertinent details," Prakash informed Sweety over the phone.

"Thank you," she replied with practiced politeness before ending the call.

She flopped onto her bed, her mind swirling in a tempest of thoughts. The reality of working with Prabhas seemed almost surreal, leaving her feeling both exhilarated and apprehensive. The name Prabhas alone was enough to send her heart racing, a reminder of all the unresolved emotions bubbling just beneath the surface.

As she stared at the ceiling, she found herself talking to her reflection in the mirror as though it were a trusted confidante.

"He's disappointed," she mused aloud. "Was I too harsh with him? I mean, he asked me out for coffee. What was I supposed to say 'Of course, let's reminisce over coffee and old times' after all these years?"

A tiny frown creased her forehead as she continued her self-dialogue. "But, he's your friend—no, he's your best friend! How could you respond like that?"

Her angelic inner voice chimed in, full of empathy, "Think about it. Your life has changed so much because of him. Maybe you should forgive him. He's just trying to reconnect."

"Forgive him?" her devilish inner voice countered with a hint of mischief. "After all he's done, why should you? Let him suffer a bit. It's only fair!"

"Enough with the internal bickering!" Sweety nearly shouted, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "I know what I'm doing! Please, stop this mental tug-of-war. Whatever happens, I'll handle it!"

She buried her face into the softness of her pillow, clutching it as if it were her last refuge. After a while, she straightened herself and opened her laptop, the flickering screen casting a pale glow on her face. Her desktop wallpaper, a relic from a happier past, stared back at her with an innocence she hadn't seen in years.

It was an image of her former self: vibrant, carefree, and genuinely happy. The picture radiated an unfiltered joy, a stark contrast to the mask of contentment she wore now. Back then, her plump cheeks and exuberant smile reflected a soul at ease with herself, unburdened by the world's expectations.

She opened her gallery and scrolled through her current images. There, her present self appeared slim, elegant, and outwardly beautiful—yet her eyes betrayed a deeper sorrow. The smile she wore now was meticulously crafted, a façade of happiness for the benefit of others. She no longer laughed with abandon, and the genuine joy that once came effortlessly was now conspicuously absent.

Her reflection in the pictures was a harsh reminder of the trade-offs she'd made. Her current self, while undeniably stunning, seemed imprisoned by societal standards and personal sacrifices. The contrast between her old self and her new one was glaring.

"With the plump cheeks and boundless energy," she thought bitterly, "I embraced who I was with all my heart. I was unapologetically myself, unfazed by others' opinions. Now, though I fit the mold of societal beauty—slim, elegant, and polished—I've lost something profound. I've become a shadow of my former self, wearing a mask of artificial smiles and controlled demeanor."

Her mind echoed with a long-forgotten mantra, a memory of her spirited self.

"Pabsu, I don't care what people think of me! I want to be who I am, truly and unapologetically. We have only one life—why waste it on tasteless restrictions and bland diets? Embrace life's pleasures, live freely!"

The memory of her vibrant words clashed with the reality before her. She managed a wry smile, tinged with melancholy, as she reflected on the stark differences between the person she was and the person she had become.