The Filter Between Us

My iPhone lay face-down on my duvet like a guilty secret. Again.

"You've been doomscrolling for two hours," Maya had texted. "Marcus posted that pic with Jessica."

I shoved my face into my pillow. My cat, Biscuit, hopped onto the bed with zero hesitation, judgment in his yellow eyes. He kneaded my stomach with needle-precision claws.

"Ow, thanks Biscuit," I muttered, sitting up. My reflection in the mirror looked like a ghost who'd failed their midterm. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. Marcus is just... busy."

Mom poked her head in. "Chloe, you've barely left your room. Did you take your vitamins?"

"Yes, Mom," I lied. The gummy vitamins sat untouched on my desk next to three empty Starbucks cups. The truth was I'd forgotten what day it was.

Friday night, usually I'd be at whatever party Marcus was hosting or at least posting the most curated stories from whatever kickback I'd dragged myself to. But tonight my phone felt heavy, toxic.

Biscuit nudged my hand with his cold nose. I scratched behind his ears, and he purred like a tiny motor.

"At least you don't care about follower counts, Biscuit," I whispered. "You don't need filters to look good. You just... are."

Something cracked open in my chest. I grabbed the vitamins — cherry ones, not terrible — and downed three. Then I did something radical: I turned off my phone.

The silence was louder than TikTok audio.

Saturday morning, I woke up to sun on my face and Biscuit sleeping on my pillow. My iPhone was still dark. For the first time in forever, I grabbed my sketchbook instead. I drew Biscuit in various poses — dramatic, regal, judging me.

When I finally turned my phone back on, I saw five missed calls from Marcus and one from Maya.

Marcus: "Chloe, I missed you at the party."

I didn't reply. Instead I posted the sketch of Biscuit looking unimpressed with existence. Caption: "Living my best life, one purr at a time."

The likes rolled in, but for once, I didn't care. I was already working on my second drawing.