Secrets are juicy. But the best ones aren’t just plot bombs—they’re personal, shameful, dangerous because they mean something...
They flinch when a specific topic comes up. Just a little. Not enough for anyone to call it out, but enough to tell you they’re holding something back.
They avoid eye contact when someone asks a question they almost can’t dodge.
They rehearse conversations in their head, just in case “it” comes up. Always planning a version of the truth that’ll hold water without leaking too much.
They hate silence, not because they’re bored, but because it gives people time to think.
They keep a part of their past oddly vague. “Oh yeah, I lived in Boston for a bit,” they say, casually skipping over the why like it’s not loaded with dynamite.
They’re overly controlling of one specific detail. Always driving. Always cleaning. Always checking someone’s phone is face-down. Not because they’re picky—because if that one thread unravels, it all falls apart.
They sometimes seem exhausted by the lie they’re living. The weight of holding it together shows in subtle ways: headaches, bad sleep, irritability. Their body is cracking before the truth ever does.