The Papaya Protocol

Maya'siphonebuzzedfor thethirdtimeinfive minutes. Another DM from the anonymous account.

"U up?"

She wasn't. She was sitting in her kitchen at 11 PM on a Tuesday, staring at a bowl of chopped papaya her mom had insisted would "clear her skin." The fruit sat there, neon orange and somehow judging her.

The anonymous account had appeared three days ago. No profile pic. No posts. Just DMs that felt weirdly specific. "U going to Jordan's party?" "Loved your outfit yesterday." "Why do you sit alone at lunch?"

Maya felt like she was being spy-ed on, but the paranoid part of her brain wondered if it was worse—maybe someone was actually watching her.

Her brother's vitamin collection sat on the counter. He'd gone through this phase last year, obsessively taking supplements he'd researched on TikTok. Vitamin D for mood, B12 for energy, zinc for... something Maya could never remember. He'd stopped eventually. She'd asked why, and he'd said, "Because I realized I was just taking pills to feel like I had control over something."

Maya grabbed her iPhone. The DMs felt like control. Like someone knew her.

She typed back: "Who r u?"

Thirty seconds later: "Does it matter?"

Yes. It mattered. She'd spent her freshman year feeling invisible, and now someone was watching—maybe too closely.

The papaya was still there. She took a bite. Sweet, weirdly musky, nothing like the aesthetic breakfast bowls on Instagram. Real life was messy and uneven.

"I'm eating papaya," she typed, because somehow that felt like a test.

"Lol same," came the response.

Maya's stomach dropped. She'd only mentioned the papaya in her Instagram story—to her Close Friends list. Only twelve people could see it.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. Someone she trusted was watching her. Someone she'd let in.

The papaya suddenly tasted like betrayal.

She called Jordan. "Hey. Random question. Who else is in your Close Friends?"

Jordan laughed. "No clue. Why?"

"No reason."

Maya deleted the papaya post. Then she blocked the anonymous account.

Some vitamins were supposed to make you stronger. This one just made her tired.

But tomorrow, she'd sit with someone new at lunch. Maybe someone who didn't know about the papaya.

Her phone stayed dark on the counter. The papaya stayed in the bowl.

For once, Maya didn't need an audience.