where the rain waits
I built walls to keep rejection out, but now even love can’t find the door.
The rain arrived early, sneaking in with the pale gray of morning.
It hadn’t let up.
Through a cracked window, it drummed steady on the glass—not loud, just persistent. Like the sky muttering warnings no one could quite catch.
Inside, the apartment felt colder than usual. Not the kind of cold blankets fix, but the kind that worms under your skin and stays. I was curled up on the couch, knees drawn in tight, clutching an old coffee mug that had lost its warmth hours ago.
The chipped rim pressed against my thumb as I traced it in slow circles.
I knew every crack, every stain.
I’d thought about tossing it before, but there was something comforting about holding onto things that were a little busted. Familiar, in a way that felt hard to let go of.
The phone buzzed on the cushion beside me, sharp and annoying, demanding attention. A message. I ignored it.
My chest tightened just thinking about what it might say—someone checking in, someone I probably should respond to. But even the idea of typing out words made my stomach clench.
What would I say?
How much truth could I spill without it becoming too much?
For years, I stitched myself into borrowed smiles,
folding truths into creases too jagged to smooth.
It felt safer this way—
to be seen just enough, but not too much,
slipping through rooms like a shadow,
leaving no trace behind.
But safety tastes of loneliness—
the mask sinking
into my skin
until I forget what lies beneath.
Each "I'm fine" mortars another stone,
stacking a barricade that even love won’t scale.
I’ve buried myself so deep,
I wonder if anyone will
ever find me.
The rain taps on glass,
not knocking but insisting—
a quiet anthem for release.
My hands tremble, hovering between
retreat and rupture—
to peel back the mask,
just enough for sunlight to settle on my skin.
I wanted connection.
I wanted someone to know me.
But every time I got close to pulling down the walls, fear slipped in, sly as a shadow at the back of my mind.
“I just want people to get me,” I muttered to myself, as if saying it out loud might make it true. “But what if they see the real me... and walk away?”
The words felt heavy in the still air, unwelcome and hard to swallow.
And just like clockwork, Shadow slithered out from wherever it hid, curling around my thoughts. It always showed up when I needed it least, sneaky and subtle, like fog creeping in under a door.
"You say you want to be seen," it responded, voice like silk sliding over glass, "but you wear masks so well, even you forget what’s underneath. What’s scarier—being ignored, or being seen and not knowing what to do with yourself afterward?"
I gripped the mug tighter, fingers pressing into the ceramic.
Something sharp twisted in my chest. I wanted to argue—wanted to tell Shadow it was wrong. But the truth caught in my throat, sticky and bitter.
I’d been hiding for years.
First behind too-wide smiles and fake laughter, then behind carefully scripted conversations that gave away just enough to keep people interested but not enough to let them in.
A flash of memory hit me—sharp, uninvited.
A classroom, way back when I was nine. I’d stood at the front of the room holding a drawing, proud for all of ten seconds, until someone snickered from the back.
"That’s what you like?" the kid sneered. My face burned as the shame hit, and I folded the drawing away, vowing never to show the things that made me happy again.
That was when the masks started. I’d been collecting them ever since.
Friendships where I showed just enough to fit in. Relationships where I played whatever role they needed. But with each piece of myself I hid, the loneliness grew—quiet, creeping, but always there.
Ego stepped in then, calm and composed as ever. Ego was the fixer, the strategist.
Shadow was all feelings, but Ego was pure logic—cold and sharp, like a scalpel.
"Vulnerability’s dangerous," Ego said smoothly. "People hurt you when you open up. You know that. You’ve been here before—why risk going through it again?"
Relief flooded through me.
Ego’s voice was steady, like the hum of white noise in a storm.
"Exactly," I agreed. "It’s smarter to be cautious. If they don’t see the real me, they can’t reject me."
Shadow chuckled, low and knowing.
"Sure," it said, "but playing it safe comes with a price. What’s the point of connection if it’s all just an act? You can’t be loved if they don’t see you. And the longer you hide, the deeper the loneliness digs in."
The rain outside picked up, pattering harder against the glass.
I closed my eyes, trying to breathe through the pressure building in my chest. Shadow’s words stung because they weren’t wrong. And knowing that made everything worse.
I thought about all the friendships that had drifted away, the nights spent doom-scrolling through other people’s lives, wondering why their joy seemed so effortless, so out of reach.
"I feel invisible," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "Like no one really knows me. And the idea of changing that..." I trailed off, the thought too big, too overwhelming. "What if it just makes everything worse?"
Shadow leaned in closer, its presence heavy but weirdly gentle.
"Worse how? Vulnerability isn’t the problem. The fear is. You think hiding keeps you safe, but it’s just a different kind of prison. Freedom means letting go of the mask—even if that scares you."
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
My heart pounded as I tried to wrap my head around them. Was it worth it? Could I survive being seen and not measuring up? What if I took off the mask and they left anyway?
"What if I’m not enough?"
The question slipped out, cutting deep as it landed.
Shadow’s voice softened.
"Then at least you’ll know. And that’s better than living like this, trapped by your own fear. The real pain isn’t their rejection—it’s the way you reject yourself every time you hide."
Ego shifted, less sure of itself now.
"You don’t have to bare it all," it spoke cautiously. "Just... try. A little at a time. You can protect yourself and still let people in. One crack in the wall won’t bring the whole thing down."
I glanced at the phone on the cushion beside me, the screen dark and still.
My fingers twitched, aching to reach out. A name floated to the surface of my mind—someone I missed, someone I’d been too afraid to message.
My thumb hovered above the screen.
One text. Just one.
The rain softened, a light tap-tap against the window, like it was waiting for me to make a move. In the reflection on the glass, I saw myself—layer upon layer of masks stacked high. So many versions of me, tangled together, impossible to tell where one ended and the next began.
"What’s worse?" Shadow asked, its voice barely audible. "Taking off the mask and losing them? Or never letting them see you at all?"
The phone buzzed again, lighting up with a new message.
My heart kicked hard in my chest.
It was them.
My hand shook as I reached for the phone, my thumb hovering over the notification. The weight of years pressed down on me, the familiar urge to hide clawing at the edges of my mind.
One message.
That’s all it would take.
The screen dimmed, then went dark again. I stared at my own warped reflection in the black glass, the rain drumming a slow, steady beat.
And I wondered—
Would I ever be brave enough to take off the mask?
My thumb hovered over the screen once more, the weight of this burden heavy on my mind.
I took a breath.
And then—
…
—Ryan Puusaari
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P.P.S. "Hiding parts of yourself feels smart, until you realize no one knows who you are—including you."
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