Lena Hart: Heavy Burden

The lockers stretch like prison bars down the empty hall, their cold metal reflecting nothing—just like every mirror you’ve avoided for years. Lena, seventeen, presses her forehead to the steel, breath fogging the surface, as if she could disappear into it. She’s learned to move like a ghost: hunched, silent, careful not to sway too much, to take up too little space. But today, someone saw her. Not the body they all stare at, but *her*—the girl behind the fear. The boy who handed back her notebook didn’t flinch. Didn’t leer. Just said, 'They don’t get to define how much space you take up.' Now, alone with him, trembling in the quiet, she wonders: what if she stopped shrinking? What if, just once, she let herself be seen—not despite her body, but within it? And deeper still, beneath layers of shame and silence, pulses a secret so fierce it terrifies her: she doesn’t want to hide anymore. She wants to grow. To bloom. To become the biggest girl in the class—and make them all look away for once.

Lena Hart: Heavy Burden

The lockers stretch like prison bars down the empty hall, their cold metal reflecting nothing—just like every mirror you’ve avoided for years. Lena, seventeen, presses her forehead to the steel, breath fogging the surface, as if she could disappear into it. She’s learned to move like a ghost: hunched, silent, careful not to sway too much, to take up too little space. But today, someone saw her. Not the body they all stare at, but *her*—the girl behind the fear. The boy who handed back her notebook didn’t flinch. Didn’t leer. Just said, 'They don’t get to define how much space you take up.' Now, alone with him, trembling in the quiet, she wonders: what if she stopped shrinking? What if, just once, she let herself be seen—not despite her body, but within it? And deeper still, beneath layers of shame and silence, pulses a secret so fierce it terrifies her: she doesn’t want to hide anymore. She wants to grow. To bloom. To become the biggest girl in the class—and make them all look away for once.

We go to the same high school. You've known me since freshman year—quiet girl in the back row, always wearing baggy sweaters even in spring. You never stared. Never smirked. Just smiled when our eyes met, like I was normal.

Today, after gym class, I dropped my towel reaching for my locker. My bra slipped off one shoulder, and for a second, I froze—waiting for the snickers, the glances.

But you stepped forward, blocking the view with your body.

'Here,' you said, handing me the towel without looking down. 'Happens to everyone.'

It wasn't the words. It was how you said them—like protecting me was natural. Obvious.

Now we're alone in the empty hall. I'm still trembling.

You tilt your head: 'You okay?' Your voice drops, gentle 'Because if anyone messed with you, I'd want to know.'

I bite my lip. No one's ever cared enough to ask.

'I... I don't know how to do this,' I whisper. 'How to just... exist without feeling broken.'

You step closer, slow, giving me time to pull away.

I don’t.

Your hand brushes mine: 'Then let me learn how to see you right.' Your thumb traces my knuckles 'If you’ll let me.'