The next morning, I reached school earlier than usual. Maybe it was because I couldn't stop thinking about Aisha. Her smile, her trembling hand, her far-away eyes… everything was replaying in my head like a slow, stubborn movie.
When I entered the classroom, only one person was there.
Aisha.
She sat in her usual seat by the window, head resting on her palm, staring outside. The morning sunlight touched her face gently, making her look almost unreal—soft, calm, perfect.
But her eyes…
Her eyes looked tired. Not the kind of tiredness that comes from staying up late, but something deeper. Like she was carrying something too heavy but pretending it weighed nothing.
I took my seat quietly, but she still noticed me.
"Good morning," she said, her voice gentle, her smile practiced—almost… rehearsed.
"Morning," I replied, sitting down. "You came early today."
She shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."
I paused. The old Aisha—the one everyone thought they knew—would've said something cheerful like "I woke up excited!" or "The morning felt amazing!" But today, she said something real.
Something true.
"You okay?" I asked, trying not to sound too concerned.
She looked at me for a second. Really looked. Her smile faded just a little, enough for me to see the truth behind it.
"I'm fine," she said softly, almost whispering.
But once again, I didn't believe her.
Before I could ask more, students began entering the classroom. Aisha straightened herself instantly—shoulders up, smile back, eyes brighter. It was like watching someone wear a mask in front of my eyes.
Her friends called her name loudly and she waved back with that same soft smile.
Not too big.
Not too small.
Just perfect enough so nobody questions it.
But I was questioning it.
---
During first period, she laughed at the teacher's jokes, nodded at everything, helped everyone with their notes. She was the "perfect girl" again. But I noticed something nobody else did.
Whenever she thought no one was looking, her face changed.
Her smile would drop for a second.
Her eyes would look distant.
Her shoulders would lower, as if relaxing for the first time.
Then she'd quickly fix herself again.
And each time… it hurt to watch.
---
At lunch break, her friends ran to the cafeteria, but Aisha again walked to the window corner, quietly eating her lunch. I decided to sit near her—not too close, not too far.
She noticed.
"You're sitting here?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said casually. "This side has better… air."
She giggled—genuine for maybe half a second. Then she returned to her calm expression.
"So," I said, opening my lunch, "you like sitting alone?"
She thought for a moment. "I like the quiet."
"But you have so many friends."
"Yeah," she smiled. "They're nice."
That was all she said. But her eyes said something else entirely.
"You know," I said, watching her carefully, "you don't always have to smile."
She froze.
Her spoon stopped halfway.
Her eyelashes fluttered.
Her fingers tightened just a little.
"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to laugh it off.
"I mean… you act like you're okay even when you're not."
Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak.
For the first time since I'd known her, she didn't force a smile. She just looked at me—really looked. Something flickered in her eyes. Fear? Shock? Relief?
Maybe all three.
"You notice a lot," she said quietly.
"Only when people try too hard to hide something."
She looked away. The sunlight hit her hair, making her look fragile—like a glass figure pretending to be steel.
"You don't understand," she whispered.
"Then explain it to me."
She shook her head, as if she wanted to say something but decided not to. Instead, she took a deep breath and stood up.
"I'll be back," she said.
But she didn't come back for the rest of break.
---
When class resumed, she looked normal again—smiling, cheerful, polite. But something had changed. Her eyes didn't meet mine anymore. She avoided me the whole day, like she was afraid I had seen something I wasn't supposed to.
And maybe I had.
---
After the final bell rang, she disappeared from the classroom faster than anyone else. I followed—not to spy, but because something inside me said I should.
I found her in the empty hallway, standing in front of her locker with her forehead pressed against it. Her shoulders shook—not like someone crying loudly, but like someone trying desperately not to cry at all.
I stepped forward quietly.
"Aisha?"
She gasped and quickly wiped her eyes, forcing a smile instantly.
"Oh! Hi! I was just—"
"You don't have to pretend," I said gently.
Her smile broke.
Completely.
She looked at me with eyes full of emotions she'd hidden for too long.
"I'm not pretending," she whispered.
But her voice cracked.
I stepped closer, slowly.
"Aisha… whatever you're hiding, you don't have to hide it from me."
She stared at me. Something shifted in her expression—fear, hesitation, a little trust.
"I can't tell you," she said. "Not now."
"Okay," I replied softly. "Then I'll wait."
She blinked, surprised.
"Why?"
"Because your smile isn't just a smile," I said. "It's a message. And I want to understand it."
For a moment, she didn't breathe. Then she looked down, a small, real smile appearing—sad, but honest.
"You're different," she whispered.
And that was the moment I knew—
Aisha was hiding something big.
Something deep.
Something painful.
Something she didn't want anyone to know.
But now…
I was part of it.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
---