Lily sat on her bedroom floor, cross-legged in the mess of her sketchbooks, pencils, and eraser dust. Her lamp cast a warm circle of light, the rest of the room swallowed in soft shadows. The page in front of her was almost finished—Worthy was surrounded now by blooming vines, stars tucked between the curves of each letter.
She looked at it, heart quiet.
Then her mother's voice broke the moment.
"Lily!" Her voice was sharp, impatient. "Dinner!"
Lily flinched, setting the pencil down. She took one last glance at the sketch, then closed the book gently, almost protectively, and headed downstairs.
The kitchen was bright, too bright. Her mother stood at the stove, already plating chicken and steamed vegetables. Her phone sat on the counter, screen lighting up every few seconds with messages. Her mom didn't glance up.
"Finally," she said. "Sit."
Lily obeyed. Her father was already at the table, reading emails on his laptop between bites. The television played quietly in the background—some home renovation show with too many people pretending to smile.
They ate in silence for a while. The clink of forks against plates, the hum of the dishwasher.
Then: "How was school?" her mother asked, not looking up.
Lily paused. The moment hung in the air. It would've been easy to lie.
"Fine," she muttered.
Her mom nodded. "Good. See? It's not so bad."
Her father didn't say anything at all.
No one asked about the bruised way she carried herself. No one noticed the way her shoulders curled inward or the fact that her food barely moved on her plate. They didn't ask if she had friends. Or if anyone said her name like it meant something other than a joke.
That night, back in her room, Lily stared at the ceiling.
How many people walked around every day with things pressing on their chest that no one ever asked about?
She thought of Rachel's words—sharp, cruel. And the silence afterward. The way no one had stepped in. Not the teachers. Not the other students. The way everyone looked away like her pain was inconvenient.
She also thought of Nathan. How he didn't ask for details but somehow knew. How he listened without making her feel broken for needing to be heard.
Maybe that's what made him different. He didn't see her as someone to fix.
He just saw her.
The next day, Lily slipped through the school halls like smoke. She was there, but not really. And then, in the third-period art class—a place she normally kept to herself—Ms. Rivas announced a new assignment.
"Create a self-portrait," she said. "But not the kind with mirrors. I want who you are, not what you look like. Use whatever medium you want. No wrong answers."
Lily's pulse quickened.
The students groaned around her, already complaining. But Lily stared down at her empty sketchpad and felt something stir.
Who was she?
At lunch, instead of sitting at her usual table, she moved outside. The benches were mostly empty, a gentle breeze tugging at her sleeves.
She opened her sketchpad and began to draw.
She didn't start with her face. She started with the vines—like the ones she'd drawn around Worthy. Then a heart, fragile but whole. She drew hands holding stars. Her body—bigger than the girls in magazines—stood tall this time. Her face wasn't smiling, but it was strong.
She didn't finish the portrait, not yet. But something about starting it felt brave.
After school, she went to Fable & Thread. The bell above the door rang like a soft welcome.
Nathan was in the middle of reshelving a pile of books. He glanced over and smiled. "You've got that look again."
"What look?"
"The one that says your mind's been somewhere far more interesting than math class."
Lily grinned, the expression surprising even her.
She held up her sketchpad. "We have to do a self-portrait. I started one."
Nathan raised an eyebrow, gently setting the books down. "That's a powerful thing, drawing yourself. Not how others see you. Not how they name you. Just… you."
Lily nodded. "It's hard."
"Yeah," he said. "Most things worth doing are."
She sat on the floor, legs tucked under her. The cat jumped down from its perch and rubbed against her leg. She reached for her pencil again, heart a little steadier than the day before.
And as the soft hum of the shop wrapped around her, Lily realized something:
Maybe she was worth getting to know—starting with herself.