When she walked into the room, the light from the window hesitated — as if it needed a moment to figure out how to illuminate her. Her hair, deep emerald and impossible to ignore, looked like something between quiet courage and unfiltered calm.
She stood by the wall, resting her hand on the small table beside her, as though checking whether the space around her was real.
For weeks, she had been trying to do one thing: stop hiding. First from herself, then from the expectations wrapped around her. She chose that green color for a reason — too bold to disappear, too soft to be a shout.
Today was a test run. She even wrote it in her phone: “Leave the room with your head up. No apologizing for who you are.”
She watched her reflection for a long moment, as if trying to convince herself: this is exactly the moment.
And when she finally took her first step toward the door, she smiled — not because she suddenly knew everything, but because, for the first time in a long while, she didn’t need to know everything to begin.
