It’s stupid, I know. This whole thing is stupid. But sometimes you just… you just get this feeling, like you’re watching yourself from somewhere outside your own head. Like you’re a character in a movie and someone else is holding the script. That’s what last night felt like. Our anniversary, of all nights. We went to that Italian place, the one with the string lights and the really loud clanking coming from the kitchen. It’s supposed to be romantic, I guess. We’ve posted about it before. All those pictures, all those comments about how perfect we are, how lucky we are. It makes you feel a certain pressure, you know? Like you have to maintain the illusion, even when the stage lights are off. He was already there when I arrived. Already scrolling, of course. I took my coat off, sat down, and… nothing. Not a word. Just the clink of cutlery from other tables, the murmur of happy couples around us. You try to catch someone’s eye, maybe offer a small smile, but it’s like there’s a wall there. A wall made of… I don’t even know. Old arguments? Unsaid things? Just… silence. The waiter came over, bright and chipper, asking about drinks. We both ordered the same thing, naturally. We always do. Another unspoken thing, another little thread in the tapestry of our “perfect” relationship. He asked about the food, and for a split second, I thought we might actually talk. But he just mumbled something about getting the usual. I ordered the same. Again. It’s amazing how much you can communicate without actually saying anything. The food came, and it was… fine. We ate. In silence. Just pushing the pasta around the plate, occasionally glancing up, but never really *looking* at each other. It was surreal. Like we were both performing for some invisible audience, even though it was just us. And then, it was time. The moment we both knew was coming. “Hey,” he said, his voice suddenly bright, “let’s get a picture.” And just like that, the script flipped. The smiles came on. The arm went around my waist. My head tilted just so against his shoulder. We looked into the camera, two beaming, happy people, surrounded by candlelight and the promise of a long, loving future. I could feel the tension in his arm, though, the way his fingers were just a little too tight on my side. But the picture? Oh, the picture was perfect. We even did a second one, just to be sure. He picked the best one, added a heart emoji and some gushing caption about forever. The likes started pouring in almost immediately. After that, the silence came back, heavier this time. Like a blanket pulled over everything. We paid, walked out, got in the car. Still nothing. Just the radio playing some pop song I didn’t even hear. It’s infuriating, this quiet. This… politeness. Sometimes you just want to scream, to break something, anything, just to shatter the goddamn façade. But you don’t. Because that’s not what people want to see, is it? Not from the couple everyone idealizes. You spend years learning to keep things locked down, to compartmentalize, to just get through it. You get really good at it, actually. Too good. And then you realize you’ve built such a strong wall around yourself, you can’t even remember how to let it down. Or maybe you just don’t want to. Maybe it’s easier to live behind the wall, even if it means you’re always just… watching. Waiting. For what, I have no idea.