One day, my mom said, Masani^[1] came to her friend’s house on swift feet, like a cat.

One day, she waited in one corner of the living room where my mom’s friend’s son, Zan played Valorant in the dark once everyone was asleep. She observed every inch of despair in their home: dried Tulsi plants, half-burnt candles, and unheard silence.

One day, when Zan was chatting with his friend on Discord at night while playing Valorant, Masani gazed at his half-eaten peanut butter sandwiches kept on the table. She said she wanted peanut butter sandwiches, too. Before Zan opened his mouth to speak further, she snapped: I want pepsi. So he went to the kitchen to fix her the meal. Masani’s heart got so full that when he returned back with the Pepsi and sandwiches, she started crying. He went close to her face, eye to eye and gasped. Masani’s eyes disclosed such gaze that he felt like he could hear her soul twisting. He hugged her. She was faint like a feather.

One day, Zan saw a Pepsi bottle emptying itself into smoke. He went to Masani.

“Did you do that, Masani?”

“I think so.” She said, with a grin plastered on her face.

He smiled at her. She felt like air.

One day, Masani occupied the grocery cabinet in the kitchen. She was so small and soft that she almost crumpled into herself and fit so nicely in between the cereal and cookie boxes that the soft animal of her body almost dissolved into them. She realized she kind of liked Zan as she heard him talk with his friends over Discord. He was such a gentle soul: he made her sandwiches for dinner, salad for lunch, strawberry milk for breakfast– all she ever wanted. She was so happy, air escaped in and out of her body; she almost became a plant.

One day, Masani remembered about another life, one where a boyfriend killed her, which is why she was here in the first place. And she got so thirsty all of a sudden that she drank all of the Pepsi from the refrigerator. When my mom’s friend saw the empty bottles of Pepsi the next day, she got angry and shouted into the air, “no one cares about you in this house, Masani, you’re just like one of those dried Tulsi plants.”

One day, my mom’s friend heard a wrapper crinkling in the grocery cabinet. She opened it. Masani was gone. All that was left were empty green plastic bottles, filled with nothing except despair. Zan paused his Valorant and came to the kitchen. His mom was crying. In the grocery cabinet, a pepsi bottle emptied itself, remoulding into plastic. He touched the remnants. The smoke burnt his hand.