The room was quiet except for the rhythmic squeak of leather as Zhade polished his Muay Thai gloves. His movements were slow and deliberate, like a man sharpening a blade that had already cut too many people.
The door creaked open.
Danli walked in carrying a large cardboard box.
He dropped it onto the table.
Masks spilled across the wood.
There were smiling masks, angry masks, professional masks, confident masks, religious masks, and masks with expressions so neutral they looked almost lifeless.
Zhade didn’t even look up.
“I was wondering when you’d bring your family.”
Danli frowned.
“My family?”
Zhade nodded toward the masks.
“The personalities you keep introducing yourself with.”
Danli chuckled.
“You’re in one of those moods today.”
Zhade finally lifted his eyes.
“No.”
He pointed toward the pile.
“These are.”
Silence settled between them.
Danli picked up a polished white mask.
“You know… most people wear these because they’re trying to survive.”
Zhade leaned back in his chair.
“No.”
“They wear them because they’re addicted.”
He reached into the box and pulled out another mask.
“This one laughs at every joke the boss tells.”
Another.
“This one pretends to like football because everyone in the office does.”
Another.
“This one suddenly becomes deeply religious every Sunday.”
Another.
“This one cusses like a sailor with friends but acts offended when someone else does it.”
Another.
“This one says they hate drama…”
“…while creating it.”
Danli couldn’t help but laugh.
“You’ve really been watching people.”
“I’ve been watching actors.”
Zhade tossed the masks back into the box.
“The problem is they forgot the movie ended.”
Danli stared at the pile.
“You know what the scary part is?”
“What?”
“Some people don’t even realize they’re acting anymore.”
Zhade smiled.
“They’ve worn the costume so long they think it’s skin.”
The room grew heavy.
Danli spoke softly.
“That reminds me of the song Stitched & Damned.”
Zhade nodded.
“It paints a picture of someone sewn together from broken pieces.”
“Exactly.”
“But I don’t think those pieces are only trauma.”
Danli looked up.
“I think they’re expectations.”
Zhade leaned forward and looked into Danli’s eyes as if looking for his soul, his true essence
“Parents.”
“Friends.”
“Employers.”
“Social media.”
“Church.”
“Politics.”
“Relationships.”
“Every person you’ve ever tried to impress left a little patch on your soul.”
Danli slowly looked down at the masks again, breaking eye contact with Zhade
“And eventually…”
“…there’s no original fabric left.”
Neither of them spoke.
Outside, rain tapped gently against the window.
Zhade finally broke the silence.
“You ever notice how exhausted people are?”
Danli nodded.
“They say life is hard.”
Zhade laughed.
“Life isn’t making them tired.”
“Lying is.”
He stood and walked toward the window.
“Imagine pretending to be six different people every single day.”
“The employee.”
“The husband.”
“The drinking buddy.”
“The church member.”
“The tough guy.”
“The victim.”
“No wonder people can’t sleep.”
Danli smiled sadly.
“They’re carrying six lives.”
“And none of them belong to them.”
Zhade turned around.
“You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“The real you has been unemployed for years.”
Danli laughed so hard he almost dropped the mask in his hands.
“That’s messed up.”
“It’s true.”
Zhade shrugged.
“You fired yourself because everybody else interviewed better.”
Another silence filled the room.
This one was different.
It wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was honest.
Danli looked into the eyeholes of one final mask.
“What if someone doesn’t even know who they are anymore?”
Zhade walked over, gently took the mask from his hands, and placed it back into the box.
“Then today’s the first day they stop asking everyone else.”
He closed the lid.
The sound echoed through the room like the ending of a chapter.
“They stop chasing applause.”
“They stop changing their voice.”
“They stop shrinking themselves to fit other people’s comfort.”
“And they finally become someone worth meeting.”
Danli smiled.
“Who?”
Zhade grinned.
“The person underneath all those damn stitches.”
The room fell quiet once more.
Not because there was nothing left to say…
But because, for the first time in a long time…
Neither of them was wearing a mask.
Divine time 