Days passed, but Mara couldn't shake the echo of Eli's words.
Everywhere she looked, the world wore its mask — polished, smiling, convincing. But underneath, the rot showed.
The streets were lined with screens blaring good news:
ECONOMY STRONGER THAN EVER.
NEW JOB CREATION UP 12%.
PEACE TALKS SUCCESSFUL.
But the headlines meant nothing when you could see the truth. The grocery store shelves half-stocked. The air thick with smoke from another distant fire. The old man coughing in the alley because his prescription was priced higher than his rent.
Everyone pretended not to see. They smiled, nodded, scrolled.
Mara tried to do the same. At work, she read the same script, spoke in the same calm voice, answered the same empty questions. Around her, her coworkers did the same — pale faces lit by monitors, voices drained of life. The break room was filled with talk of weekend sales, reality shows, and new gadgets nobody needed. No one spoke about the power cuts that had been happening more often. No one mentioned the water rationing notice taped in the lobby.
Pretending had become survival.
She saw Eli again that evening, outside the metro station. He was standing by a wall plastered with old posters — protests, missing persons, slogans from campaigns long forgotten. The city painted over them every few weeks, but they always came back, like ghosts.
"You again," Mara said, folding her arms.
He smiled, that same stubborn light in his eyes. "You sound disappointed."
"I'm just surprised you're still here. Most people don't hang around after dark."
"I like the quiet," he said. "It's the only time you can hear what's real."
She frowned. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he pointed to a group of people walking past — neat clothes, tidy smiles, their eyes blank. "Look at them. Do you see it?"
"See what?"
"The fear. The emptiness. They pretend everything's fine because they're too scared to admit it's not."
Mara followed his gaze. He was right. The people weren't living — they were acting. Moving through the script of a life they no longer believed in. She felt a chill crawl through her chest.
"They don't want to see," she said quietly.
"No one does," Eli replied. "It's easier to believe the lie. To keep your head down, work, consume, obey. They call it peace, but it's just numbness."
A bus passed, its sides flashing with ads — luxury condos, smart implants, happiness pills. A smiling couple on the screen laughed against a backdrop of green hills that didn't exist anymore. Beneath the ad, a man in torn clothes dug through a trash bin. No one looked at him.
Eli sighed. "They built a world that eats itself, and everyone's too distracted to notice."
Mara looked around — the flickering lights, the endless noise, the tired faces. It hit her then: the city wasn't alive. It was a stage.
And they were all actors in a play that never ended.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked. "What difference does it make?"
"Because you see it too," Eli said softly. "And once you see, you can't unsee. You either go numb like the rest… or you fight."
"Fight what?"
He smiled faintly. "The lie."
They stood in silence as the city buzzed around them — horns, footsteps, advertisements shouting promises into the night. Above it all, a massive screen on a building showed a government broadcast:
STAY HOPEFUL. STAY PRODUCTIVE. THE FUTURE IS BRIGHT.
And below it, a woman sat on the sidewalk, crying quietly, clutching a ration card.
Mara looked up at the message, then back at Eli. "The future is bright," she said bitterly.
He shook his head. "No. But it could be — if people stopped pretending."
She didn't answer. She couldn't. Because deep down, she knew he was right.
The world was breaking.
And everyone was smiling through the cracks.