It will fit too.
We are a society of beautiful ruins hiding behind bright filters. My mother calls. “Beta, you look so happy in the photos!” I don’t tell her that happiness now feels like a language I once knew but forgot how to speak. I just send her a smiling emoji. She sends one back. Two masks kissing across a digital wire.
Look at the waiter. He smiles as he hands me the bill. Hope you enjoyed everything, ma’am. His smile is a shield against rudeness, a toll he pays to keep his job. Look at the couple at the next table. She is smiling as he scrolls through his phone. Her smile says, I am fine. Her eyes say, See me. Muskaanein Jhooti Hai
I have become a cartographer of false joy. I map it onto my lips every morning before the first Zoom call. I drape it over my shoulders like a designer jacket. “Good morning, team! Let’s crush the day!” My voice chirps, a digital bird made of wires and anxiety. Behind the camera, my hands are shaking. The revenue forecast is wrong. Two senior developers just resigned. My father’s medical reports came back this morning.
Muskaanein jhooti hai.
But the smile? It stayed put. Perfect. Plastic.
So I will wipe the mascara that ran an hour ago. I will start the car. I will go home and feed the cat. And tomorrow morning, I will open the closet, pick out a dress, and pick out a smile. It will fit too
The dress will fit.