“Tell me about a time you were afraid,” the stranger asks unapologetically. I’m taken aback for a moment, unable to process this interaction for seconds. ‘Am I not observing a play right now?’ I wonder.

“Uhhhh,” is all that manages to escape my lips. There’s a room full of strangers watching, waiting for your answer.

“Well, there was that one time,” the actor nods encouragingly with intimidatingly attentive eyes. “Back when I was ten years old.” All eyes are on you. The rain is dripping methodically on the windowpane outside- it is the only sound echoing around the room. “My dad, he was ill. He woke up in the middle of the night gasping for air, it woke me up.” She’s crouched just below eye line, smiling a knowing smile. ‘Why does she seem to understand this? How could she have been through this as well?’

“And? What happened next?” she coaxes lightly, looking for more detail.

“Well, I just got up and ran over and said ‘Dad! What’s going on?’ I tried to calm him down, and after a couple of hours he fell back to sleep. But it was scary because I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to fix the situation, make it all better, but I was ten. How could I have known how?”

Deafening silence. She smiles, looks down, rests a comforting hand on my knee and wanders on.

“Truth or Dare,” she challenges into empty space, the air now thick with tension.

“Dare,” challenges the only other actor from across the room without hesitation, his shadow dancing playfully along the opposite wall. The light blinds me slightly from where he stands. All I can do it hold my breath awaiting their next move.

It’s been five minutes and these actors have managed to create a safe space in a room filled with 30 strangers from all walks of life. And we’re all willing to share when called upon to do so. Stories of childhood love, tales of adventure and adrenaline, legends of ghosts haunting our childhood houses. And as each person shares their personal stories, I find myself lost in thought; half listening, half following the path these actors have lead us down unknowingly.

Mostly though, I’m meditating on past events, feeling connected to these people I’ve never met and will never see again, on a level I would never experience with many. It feels like therapy. What feels like hours pass, and I’m slow dancing with one of my oldest friends. I steal glances around the room, at a room filled with strangers slow dancing with other strangers, laughing fully with friends, partners, family.

And all of a sudden I’m crying. Inexplicably crying. Simultaneous tears of joy, sadness, surprise and defeat. But then the music stops and the applause commences. And we’re leaving this small studio, never to return to the same place with the same people again.

And the most heartbreakingly beautiful part of this is that life goes on as it did before these hours had passed. Nothing outside those doors has changed, though the sun has set. We go back to our lives, touched deeply by a group of strangers, and two courageous artists.