Reina stood before the mirror, the pale morning light spilling through the curtains and brushing against her reflection. She tilted her head slightly, her fingers tracing the stray strands of hair that refused to fall into place, tugging at the hem of her plain T‑shirt. She had chosen something simple today—shorts, sneakers, muted colors—a uniform meant to let her fade into the background. Bold choices felt impossible, like drawing attention to a flickering candle she wasn't sure could burn. Her reflection looked back at her with quiet scrutiny, mirroring the small storms in her chest.
Even as she stepped onto the university badminton court, the chatter of players, the laughter, the rhythmic thwack of shuttlecocks—everything alive and vibrant—felt distant. She moved as if through water, every motion heavy with awareness, every glance at others pulling her deeper into self-consciousness. Other girls moved with effortless grace, confidence radiating with every step. Their hair was neatly tied, their smiles easy, their energy undeniable. They were visible. Alive. Beautiful. And Reina felt small in comparison, her movements awkward, tentative, and heavy with thought.
She tried to swing her racket, to focus on her practice, but her mind would not obey. It spiraled, whispering cruelly: You're not enough. You're invisible. You're ordinary. Every mis-hit, every fumbled swing, every glance in passing mirrors reinforced the feeling that she could never match the confidence she saw in others.
"I… need some water," she whispered to herself, almost inaudible, retreating toward the corner of the court, letting the sounds of the game blur behind her. Her steps echoed lightly in the corridor as she moved toward the fountain, dragging with her not just her body, but the weight of her own thoughts.
Then she collided with someone.
Adrian.
Racket in hand, calm and poised, his eyes immediately on hers. "Hey," he said softly, "you look pale and dull. Didn't you sleep last night?"
Her heart skipped. How does he know? The question struck her with an intensity that left her silent. How could anyone see the restless nights she had spent twisting under blankets, chasing the elusive comfort of sleep? She felt seen. Heard. Somehow understood in a way that startled her.
Instead of answering, she looked into his face, searching for the reason he could see into her like this. How can he notice what no one else ever did? How can he understand the exhaustion that no one else bothers to ask about?
"Hey," Adrian repeated, tilting his head with a teasing smile that brushed just enough warmth across his features, "how was your sleep last night?"
Reina blinked, letting herself come back to the moment. "Oh… I was just trying to have some water," she murmured, voice caught somewhere between nervousness and wonder.
Adrian extended the bottle he had been carrying. "Here you go," he said, with that effortless charm. Already open—maybe he'd been drinking from it himself. She took it in small sips, feeling the warmth not just of the water but of the gesture itself, as though it carried a quiet acknowledgment she had been starving for.
"So… you didn't answer," he said, his eyes holding hers for a heartbeat too long.
"I… I'm just a little tired," she admitted softly, cheeks warming with a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity.
"Practicing too hard, huh?" he teased.
A fleeting, teasing smile passed between them, light but electric, before he turned and walked toward his own court. Reina watched him leave, heart fluttering, a strange warmth lingering long after he disappeared from view.
She resumed her walk toward her court, but the corridor stretched endlessly, colder, quieter, as if the world itself was holding its breath. The noise of the courts faded behind her, leaving only the echo of her own steps. The solitude pressed down, heavier than before.
How unfair… how exhausting… she thought. Every breath felt laden, every heartbeat dragging like chains. Just existing seemed like a monumental task, one she had not signed up for but could not escape. She clenched her fists, trying to shake it off, to focus on the practice, but the shadows inside pressed closer, whispering doubts she could not silence.
A mirror along the corridor wall caught her attention. She stopped. Slowly, she stepped closer, tracing her face with her fingertips, her hands lingering over her hair, cheeks, and lips, as if trying to rediscover the girl she once knew.
I was called beautiful once, she whispered to herself. People had noticed, had admired her soft, quiet charm. Natural, effortless… subtle. They said she didn't need to try, that she could be recognized even in simplicity, even at her worst.
Now, all she saw were tired eyes, shadows creeping beneath her skin, dulled by years of feeling unseen, unheard, and unloved.
Were they lying? Or had she stopped seeing herself as they once did? Perhaps it wasn't them at all—it was her. She had buried her own light under layers of doubt, pain, and neglect, letting the echoes of past shadows define her worth.
And there it came—the memory of a figure, dark and distant, a presence that had promised light but left a trail of shadows instead. The one person who should have been her anchor, her guide, her safe place, had instead become a silent storm in her life. Their indifference, their absence, their coldness had etched a deep, quiet ache inside her, making her feel invisible, undeserving, unworthy. She could still hear the echoes, feel the whispers: You're not enough. You don't deserve love.
Her chest tightened, the weight of the past pressing against her ribs. And yet, beneath the shadows, a spark flickered—a fragile, stubborn ember of defiance. She wanted to rise. She wanted to fight. She wanted to believe her worth wasn't dictated by someone else's darkness.
"Reina!"
Melissa's voice pulled her from the mirror's spell. Radiant, confident, alive—Melissa appeared at the corridor's end, grabbing her hand. "What are you doing here? We have our next match! Come on!"
Reina blinked, forcing herself into motion, letting Melissa's energy pull her along. Her friend's presence pressed against her insecurities like sunlight through a darkened room. Melissa's laughter flowed naturally, her every movement confident, effortless. Reina followed, half in reality, half adrift in the storm of her own thoughts.
Why can't I be like her? she wondered. Cheerful. Confident. Alive.
Was it something broken within her? Or was it the weight of the past—the home where attention was scarce, where love was conditional, and where her voice was often ignored? Or was it that shadowed figure who had promised warmth but left darkness instead, shaping her perception of love into something unattainable, something foreign, something she didn't yet deserve?
Melissa's pace quickened, dragging Reina almost into a slow run. Footsteps echoed like heartbeats. Reina's thoughts roared louder than the rhythm of her feet. Maybe that's why I can't love myself… why I feel undeserving… why every compliment feels hollow and every kind word seems meant for someone else.
By the time they reached the court, her lungs burned lightly—not from the exertion, but from the storm within her chest. She stood there, gripping her racket, eyes fluttering closed. Deep, deliberate breaths anchored her, grounding her in the present.
I can do this, she told herself. I will shine.
Even as doubt lingered, whispering in the corners like wind through an empty corridor, there was a spark, fragile but unbroken. The shadows of the past were long, but not infinite. Beneath the hurt, beneath the weight of neglect and silent suffering, there was a seed of something else—strength, potential, fire.
Reina inhaled again, letting it fill her lungs, steady her hands, remind her: she had survived. She had endured. She had felt the weight of being unseen—and yet, she still stood. She swung her racket lightly, testing the rhythm, feeling subtle power in her movements.
The game awaited. The court, the shuttlecocks, the players—all around her. And somewhere deep inside, she knew the woman she could become—the one who could command attention quietly, carry herself with magnetic strength, turn shadows into resilience—was already there. She only needed to step fully into the light, swing by swing, thought by thought, breath by breath.
Shadows lingered. Doubt lingered. But so did brilliance, hidden, quiet, waiting to grow. Reina—soft, subtle, natural—was ready to rise.