The Goldfish in the Room

Maya's phone buzzed — another party invite she'd pretend she hadn't seen. Her iPhone lit up with screenshots of everyone having the time of their lives at Jake's house, while she sat cross-legged on his living room floor, fish-sitting.

"You're so lucky you get to house-sit for Jake," her friends had said. As if.

Jake, the guy whose Instagram was all golden-hour skate videos and effortless cool. The guy everyone wanted to befriend.

And here Maya was, alone on Friday night, watching his goldfish — named Neptune, because of course — float suspiciously still in its glowing tank.

"Don't die on me, Neptune," she whispered. Jake had texted her detailed instructions, which she'd screenshot. "Only give him one vitamin pellet. He's on a specialized diet."

A vitamin pellet for a fish? That was new.

Maya's cat back home ate whatever fell on the floor. Neptune looked like he needed therapy, not supplements.

She was about to Google "do goldfish have anxiety" when Jake's cat, Barnaby, decided this was the perfect moment to knock over the carefully arranged vitamin container. Pellets scattered everywhere like tiny orange pills.

"Barnaby, NO!"

The cat blinked, offended, then sauntered away like nothing had happened.

Maya scrambled to clean up, her heart racing. What if Neptune died on her watch? What if Jake came home to find out she'd failed at the simplest task ever? It would be social suicide.

That's when she saw it — Jake's iPad left open on the counter. She knew she shouldn't look. Really.

But there it was: his search history. "how to talk to people without sweating," "do goldfish get lonely like humans," "vitamin d deficiency social anxiety symptoms."

Maya stared.

Jake — Jake, who everyone thought was so chill — was just as nervous as she was. He got anxious. He worried about his goldfish being lonely.

The goldfish in the room wasn't Neptune.

It was the fact that everyone was faking it.

Neptune chose that moment to swim lazily to the front of the tank, look Maya in the eye, and blow a tiny bubble.

Maya laughed out loud. Then she did something risky: she opened Jake's messages and typed, "Neptune says hi. Also, thanks for trusting me with him."

A moment later: ";) thanks maya. you're the only one who'd get it."

Her phone lit up again — more party notifications. This time, she didn't screenshot them. She just watched Neptune swim, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

They were all just goldfish swimming in the same tiny tank, pretending to know where they were going.

At least now she wasn't pretending alone.