The morning sun filtered softly through the classroom windows, casting a golden glow on the rows of desks. Angela sat near the back, her notebook closed but within reach. The words she'd poured into it still echoed in her mind, fragile yet steady, like the first notes of a song.
Gabriel slid into the seat beside her, flashing his usual easy grin. "Morning, latecomer."
Angela smiled back, the warmth spreading through her chest. "Guess I'm still not a morning person."
He chuckled. "You're improving, though. Yesterday you were barely awake."
They exchanged a quiet look — one filled with unspoken understanding.
The day passed with the usual lessons and distractions, but Angela felt a small shift within herself. She wasn't invisible anymore, not entirely. She could feel the eyes of classmates, not with judgment, but with curiosity, even respect.
At lunch, Gabriel nudged her gently. "Hey, Expression Week's coming up fast. Have you thought about sharing your poem?"
Angela hesitated, then shook her head. "Not yet. But… maybe."
Gabriel nodded. "Whatever you decide, I'm here."
Later, Miss Eniola found her during break. "I wanted to tell you how proud I am," she said softly. "Writing your story is brave. You're brave."
Angela's throat tightened, but she managed a small nod. "It's not easy."
"It's never easy," Miss Eniola said. "But sometimes, the smallest light can break through the deepest darkness."
That night, Angela sat by her window, the notebook open once again. The house was quieter now, but her heart felt fuller.
She began to write, this time not just pain, but hope. Not just shadows, but light.
Because healing wasn't a destination. It was a journey — one she was finally ready to take.