At first, Maya thought it was a gift. Honesty, raw and unfiltered. But after a week, the noise became unbearable. Every kindness was a lie. Every smile was armor. Every “I love you” from her mother came with: [Worried Maya will die alone. Regrets not pushing her into medicine.]

Her best friend, Jenna, hugged her after the news. Jenna’s subtitle flickered: [Guilty. Slept with Maya’s ex. Wondering if this is a bad time to mention it.]

She started wearing headphones. She stopped looking people in the eye. She learned to read the subtitles without moving her gaze—a trick that felt less like insight and more like hiding.

One night, alone in her apartment, she muted the world and turned the subtitles on herself. For the first time, she watched the text scroll at the bottom of her own vision.