Death isn’t exactly a dinner-table topic—unless you’re an introvert like me and need a quick escape plan. One well-timed, “So, do you think you’re heading to heaven when you die, or should I save you a seat in hell?” and voilà—the room clears faster than your browser history when your mum borrows your laptop. But let’s not kid ourselves—death is coming for all of us.
Does she like me?—that question hits you like a full-scale mental mugging at 2 a.m. One moment, you’re in incognito mode Googling things that would make the devil take a cigarette break, and the next, you’re interrogating your own memories like they’re on trial. Did she laugh at your joke because it was funny, or because she’s so used to pity-laughing that it’s basically a reflex?