After a few days of school, things in class had already begun to shift. Groups were forming naturally, lines quietly being drawn. Reine—the new blonde girl—had quickly paired up with Celine. Surprisingly, Zara, whom I had initially assumed was mean, joined them too, along with another girl whose name I hadn’t caught yet.
Across the room, another trio had settled in—Maya, who had studied here before, and two girls I didn’t know yet.
One afternoon, while I was busy with my class rep duties, Reine called out to me.
“Do you know if anyone in class has social media? I asked around but… weirdly, no one seems to,” she said casually.
I gave her a small smile—probably the first real one I’d shown her.
“You didn’t ask me yet,” I said. “I have it.”
Her face lit up instantly. “Perfect! Let’s add each other. And maybe you could ask around too?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
Celine, standing nearby, leaned over with a smile. “Here’s mine too.”
Zara chimed in as well, handing over her handle. “We should totally make a group or something.”
Their friendliness caught me off guard. It felt warm… genuine. For the first time, I began to wonder if this new start could actually be something good.
Maybe I wasn’t as invisible as I thought.
Maybe it really was all in my head.
That night, as I lay in bed, I made a quiet promise to myself: to try. To step out of the shell I’d built. To connect, even if it scared me.
The next day, I walked over to Maya’s group during break. They were laughing—probably over inside jokes. But the moment they noticed me, the energy shifted. Their laughter softened, the air suddenly awkward.
Here comes the weird silence, I thought. Still, I smiled.
“Hey, I’m Sanvya,” I said. “Just wondering… are you guys on social media?”
There was a pause.
Then, one of them gave a soft smile. “Yeah, I’m Sara. I’ll give you mine.”
Maya and Sanvi nodded and passed theirs too.
We exchanged handles quickly, and though they were polite, I could still feel a slight tension. A hesitation.
They were still unsure about me. Still watching from behind a wall.
But that was okay.
It was a start—and this time, I wasn’t going to let fear stop me.
That evening, I followed them all back. I scrolled through their posts—laughing at memes, lingering over photos, quietly observing pieces of their lives.
These people… they felt different.
They didn’t feel distant.
And I think I liked that.
A few days later, we had our first P.E. class. The teacher took us out to the field, and to my surprise, everyone seemed genuinely excited. Especially Celine and Reine—they were naturals, passing and scoring like seasoned players.
They joked about having been on the school team before. I laughed with them. It felt easy.
For once, I wasn’t overthinking.
But everything changed the moment we walked back into the building.
Teachers were rushing around with stacks of files, tension written all over their faces. I stopped one of them out of curiosity.
“What’s going on, ma’am?”
She looked at me briefly. “10th-grade board results are out. We’re sorting them now.”
And just like that, the ground vanished beneath me.
Already?
The chatter around me turned to white noise. Panic set in.
She’s going to be furious. I didn’t make first. She’ll scream. She’ll say I failed.
Even when I succeed, it’s not enough.
My chest tightened, breath catching in my throat. I felt myself spiraling. The tears started silently, then all at once.
That’s when I felt a pair of arms wrap around me.
I froze.
But they didn’t let go.
I looked up, eyes blurred. It was Sara.
She didn’t say anything at first—just held me, steady and strong, like she meant it.
“I… I embarrassed her,” I whispered. “She’ll say I’m useless. That I failed her.”
Sara didn’t loosen her hold. “You’re not alone,” she said, so quietly it almost melted into the moment.
And that was it. Something inside me cracked open. I let go.
For the first time in a long time, someone saw the pain. And stayed.
She didn’t see a rank or a report card.
She saw me.
And in that quiet, tear-stained moment, I knew: I would protect her with everything I had. Because she had looked at me not as a threat.
Not as a burden.
But as a friend.
Back home, everything unfolded just as I had feared.
The moment she saw the result sheet, the yelling began. It didn’t matter that I was among the school toppers. I hadn’t come first.
And so, I had failed.
The words stung, but they were familiar. Too familiar.
I stood there, letting her anger crash over me like waves I had long given up trying to swim through.
I wanted to scream back—to say, I tried. I worked so hard.
But I didn’t.
Because I knew she wouldn’t hear it.
Later that night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the silence around me a stark contrast to the storm in my head.
And in that stillness, I whispered:
“Please…
Let me escape this place.
Let me go where my efforts are seen.
Where I’m not judged for what I’m not.
Where I’m more than a report card—
But a person.
A raw, broken, real person.
Like how she saw me today.”
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