At least, that’s what his followers believed.
Every morning, hundreds of strangers scrolled through his social media and envied his life. Aesthetic coffee shots. Rooftop parties. Late-night hustle captions. Smiles that looked effortless. He was living proof or so it seemed that ambition could build paradise from dust.
But dust was all he really had.
The Morning Façade
In reality, Garry lived in a small rented room with peeling paint and a window that barely opened. He didn’t own the furniture in his pictures half of it belonged to his landlord’s son who had moved abroad.
Each morning, he’d prepare his stage:
A cup of instant coffee, a dim patch of sunlight, and a phone camera balanced on a stack of books.
“Gratitude is the key to happiness.” he’d caption the photo.
Likes rolled in. Comments too people admiring his “minimalist aesthetic” without realizing that minimalism wasn’t a lifestyle for Garry. It was necessity.
After the screen dimmed, silence filled the room again the kind of silence that reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday.
The Borrowed Blazer
Every Friday, he’d visit his friend Steve.
“Bro, can I borrow that blue blazer again?” Garry would ask.
Steve would sigh. “You wore it last weekend.”
Garry’s grin never faltered. “Trust me, no one noticed. I’ll tag you this time.”
And so he went to influencer parties and tech events he barely understood shaking hands, taking pictures, laughing on cue. He never bought a drink; he just held the glass long enough to look busy.
“Surround yourself with success, and success follows.” he’d post that night.
What no one saw was how he carefully folded that same blazer before bed, brushing away invisible dust as though it were made of gold.
The Empty Plate
His friend Stefani met him one afternoon at a café.
“You’re really doing well, Garry,” she said, sipping her latte. “I saw your post from last night you’re killing it!”
Garry smiled, nodding. His stomach growled, but he masked it with a chuckle.
When her phone rang, she excused herself.
He looked at her half-eaten sandwich, hesitated, and took a single bite just enough to quiet the ache. Then he wiped the crumbs carefully before she returned.
That night, his caption read:
“Some days, success tastes simple. Keep going.”
Nobody knew how true that was.
The Cracks in the Shine
Bills stacked on his desk like accusations. The power went out twice that week. His landlord threatened to evict him. Steve grew distant, tired of lending.
Still, Garry stayed loyal to his illusion.
He posted motivational quotes in the dark, using the light of his dying phone battery.
He typed once, “I’m tired.”
But he deleted it.
Instead, he wrote:
“No excuses. Just results.”
And the likes came again feeding him for a moment longer.
The Last Post
One final time, Garry borrowed the blazer. A big influencer event was happening downtown. He posed for photos, laughed harder than ever, smiled brighter than ever because he knew it had to look real.
That night, he uploaded a post that would become his most viral yet:
“Dreams do come true when you refuse to give up.”
The next morning, Steve came to collect the blazer. The door was open. The fan was still spinning. Garry lay on the bed, still dressed, still smiling faintly.
Beside him, his phone blinked with new notifications likes, comments, praises.
He had gone quietly from hunger, exhaustion, or heartbreak.
No one could tell the difference anymore.
The Illusion Lives On
Days later, his profile was still active.
People continued to like his posts, to call him “an inspiration.”
No one knew the truth that the life they admired was built on borrowed clothes, borrowed meals, and borrowed dreams.
Garry had created a perfect reflection, one too beautiful to belong to reality.
In the end, he disappeared into it a victim of the very illusion he built.
Reflection
We live in an age where smiles are staged, happiness is filtered, and struggles are hidden under hashtags.
Garry’s story is not unique it’s quietly happening everywhere, every day, behind perfect profiles and polished captions.
So the next time you scroll past someone’s “perfect life,”
remember: what shines online might be breaking in the dark.
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