The sun was just beginning to rise over Budapest, casting a warm, golden light over the city's historic streets. The morning air was cool and crisp as Angyal stepped out of her small, rundown house, a modest white dress clinging to her slim frame. Her light blonde hair, loose and shining like spun gold, caught the rays of the early sun, creating a halo effect around her head. With her delicate features, striking blue eyes, and fair skin, Angyal looked every bit the angel her name suggested.
But the beauty that others admired was a burden for Angyal. At 185cm tall, she towered over most, her height only adding to her ethereal presence. Strangers stared as she walked by, unable to take their eyes off her, but Angyal had long since learned to ignore the attention. She kept her gaze forward, focusing on her destination, a determined look in her eyes.
The whispers began almost immediately as she walked through the busy streets.
"Is she a supermodel?" one woman asked her friend, her voice filled with awe.
"She's stunning...like an angel," another person murmured, eyes wide with admiration.
Angyal's heart sank. She hated how people only saw her for her looks, never bothering to look beyond her appearance. She didn't care about being beautiful; she just wanted to live her life in peace, to be recognized for her hard work and intelligence, not her face.
As she passed by a bakery, the owner, an older man with kind eyes, smiled at her. "Good morning, Angyal! How about a fresh pastry on the house?"
Angyal returned the smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Szabo, but I'm fine," she replied politely. "I can't accept something I didn't work for."
The old man chuckled, shaking his head in admiration. "You're too humble, Angyal. You deserve all the good things in life."
Angyal just nodded, the familiar ache in her chest growing stronger. Everyone thought she had it all, just because of how she looked, but they had no idea what her life was really like. They didn't see the empty cupboards in her tiny house, or know how she often went to bed hungry because there wasn't enough food to last until her next paycheck. They didn't know how hard she worked, balancing two jobs while keeping up with her university studies, all to survive in a world that seemed determined to bring her down.
Her parents had died when she was just sixteen, leaving her to fend for herself. They had always taught her the value of hard work, and that beauty was only skin deep. Their loss had been devastating, but Angyal had pushed through the grief, determined to honor their memory by living a life they would be proud of. She was smart—smarter than most—and had earned a full scholarship to university, where she excelled in her studies. It was her only hope for a better future, one that didn't involve cleaning hotel rooms or serving food in a crowded restaurant for the rest of her life.
But even at university, she couldn't escape the attention her looks brought. Boys tried to flirt with her, girls envied her, and even some professors looked at her a little too long. It was exhausting, but Angyal endured it with quiet grace, never letting anyone see how much it bothered her.
After her classes, she headed straight to her first job, working as a housekeeper at a modest hotel. She was efficient and thorough, scrubbing floors and changing sheets with the same dedication she applied to her studies. The work was hard, but it was honest, and Angyal took pride in doing it well.
In the evenings, she worked as a waitress at a busy restaurant, where the noise and chaos often left her feeling drained by the end of her shift. The customers were usually friendly, but there were always a few who made comments about her appearance that made her uncomfortable. "You should be on a runway, not serving food," they would say, or "With a face like that, you could marry a millionaire and never work another day in your life."
