My mind was full.
Overflowing. Loud. Blank.
Everything at once.
Appa said,
“It’ll pass… We’ve seen worse.”
But it didn’t feel like it would.
Until she came.
Yalini didn’t ask me to smile.
She didn’t bring chocolate or flowers.
She brought a mirror.
A small round one.
From her bag.
She handed it to me and said:
“I want you to look into this… and tell me if you still see the same boy from the bus.”
I didn’t speak.
But I looked.
And I saw him.
The boy who shook on a bus.
The boy who wrote pain into pages.
But also…
The boy who stood up.
The boy who didn’t quit.
The boy who was still here.
Tears dropped.
She didn’t wipe them.
She just sat beside me and whispered,
“This time, you’re not vanishing.
You’re becoming.”
That night, I wrote again.
Not just in the diary.
But on a small sticky note.
I pasted it near my mirror.
“I am still here. And I’m not done.”
That was the first time I chose to fight.
Not for survival.
But for myself.
🖋️ — Viyan
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