The Glass Prison

It was a vivid dream—one that lingered long after I woke up.

I was trapped inside a cell made entirely of glass. Four transparent walls, no door, no way out. Somehow, I knew the design was deliberate: It was designed to keep people apart. If two people began to form a bond, the wall between them would start to fog, then thicken, until eventually nothing could be seen or heard. The closer they got, the more the glass pushed them away.

At first, I was alone. I grew accustomed to the silence, the emptiness, and time slipping by like water without ripples. Then one day, someone appeared in the cell next to mine—another prisoner, also surrounded by glass.

We didn’t speak at first. We only exchanged brief glances—the kind that say, “I see you, but I won’t come closer.” This wasn’t a place for conversation; everything here discouraged it. But after a few days, he spoke. I don’t remember his words exactly—maybe just a simple hello. Lonely, I answered quietly, cautiously, as if my voice might shatter something fragile between us.

From there, we slowly started talking. We shared stories, thoughts, little things. When he laughed, I laughed. When I was quiet, he listened. And as we grew closer, the glass began to change.

At first, it fogged slightly—a soft mist like breath on a cold window. Then it thickened; our voices got quieter. Still, we kept talking, leaning closer, trying to hold onto the connection.

But one day, I woke up and could no longer see him, no longer hear him. The glass had grown too thick, too opaque.

I sat in the corner of my cell and waited, hoping to hear his voice again. But it stayed silent. I began to cry. That’s when I realized—I had fallen for him.

I didn’t even know it was happening. I just followed the warmth he brought into my lonely world. The more I cared, the more I lost him.

Maybe the real prison wasn’t the glass, or the walls, but the cruel distance that grows with closeness—the fear that loving someone means losing them. The heartbreak of connection punished by separation.