Having not indulged in it for quite some time, she eagerly embarked on her beloved hobby of baking a cake on a relaxing Sunday. Arranging all the necessary ingredients, she meticulously took a moment to snap a picture. She posted it on her social network with the caption: "Planning for a Red Velvet Cake." The post quickly gathered likes and comments, fueling her enthusiasm as the cake came together.
The Red Velvet Cake emerged from her oven—hot, deep red, velvety soft. Vanilla smell. Like a solitary rose blooming in a remote valley. She sliced it. Placed it on a vanilla-colored plate.
She posed—spoon near lips, eyes slightly widened, head tilted—just right. Click. The phone cried, mimicking a shutter it never had. The photo-enhancing app softened her skin, textured her hair, subtly arched her brows to match her eyes. It sharpened the cake's edges, deepened its red, synced her lips and nails to its color.
She posted: "Yummy RV Cake."
Likes poured in. She checked. Friends, well-wishers—yes, they had liked it.
"Good. They returned the like," she whispered.
She counted the likes. Returned likes for comments. Everything was in balance.
Then—from nowhere—a comment popped up. It was from a friend notorious for being the queen of unsolicited opinions.
"Too dark."
"Really? I didn't think so," she commented back, masking her irritation with a smiley emoji.
The reply came faster than expected—a link to a blog post about the proper color of Red Velvet Cake. The tagline stung: "Better read before you bake, lol."
Her blood boiled. Adrenaline surged. Heart pounding.
"Will definitely read later..." she typed back.
Then came the comment: "Baking Cake is an Art."
She stared at the words. They blurred and rearranged themselves into a personal attack.
The weightless pixels from her phone screen stirred her mind and emotions, tightened her chest, quickened her pulse—triggering a primal rush of fear and anger.
Sweat. Heartbeats lost rhythm. Vision blurred with tears. With trembling fingers, she typed: "So waht?"—a typo.
A moment later, a reply popped up—a grinning emoji, laughing louder than words.
The phone screen stretched wide, devouring her until she dissolved into pixels—lost in the digital void.
She unfriended her. Blocked her. Cursed her.
Caught in the void, her head spun faster and grew wilder. Someone in her college WhatsApp group started a debate: her actions were dissected, discussed.
"Why can't people take criticism?" some argued. "Toxic negativity," her supporters countered.
Screenshots circulated. She called her family, friends, and even a tiny counseling chatbot, debating social media etiquette. The cyclone roared and roared. She shut her phone.
She cried. She dozed.
There, on the eastern horizon, the sun bloomed, transforming the sky into a canvas of pinks, oranges, and serene blues. Pouring light over darkness. The breeze and water carried the light. Waves kissed the shore. A gentle breeze swept across the land, and a solitary red rose in her garden unfurled its delicate petals. Birds sang, witnessing.
Inside, untouched, the slice of Red Velvet Cake lay serenely on the vanilla-colored plate in front of her.
The light sneaked through the window, bathing it in gold.
Even in the dim glow, the brand name "Vive" remained clearly visible.