Settling into life as Ben was harder than I ever expected. Every day felt like balancing on a tightrope, a constant effort to fit in without letting anyone glimpse the truth. Here, at the university, my new identity meant freedom, but it also meant staying vigilant. Every morning I’d look in the mirror, reminding myself that I was no longer Bella. Each day, I buried more of her and told myself this was necessary to stay safe.
Classes had started, and the workload was already intense. The curriculum was challenging, exactly what I’d dreamed of, but it felt like climbing a mountain every day. My classmates were brilliant, each one ambitious and determined. Conversations swirled around me about theories and projects, debates about ideas I’d only read about in textbooks. The excitement of being here was overwhelming, and yet, so was the constant pressure to keep up.
Despite the excitement, I felt isolated. As Bella, I would have shared my struggles, laughed with friends over study sessions, and leaned on them during stressful times. But here, as Ben, I had no one. I couldn’t risk confiding in anyone, and even casual conversations felt dangerous. I had to constantly filter my words, careful not to reveal anything that might hint at my past. It was exhausting, but I had no choice. Every interaction could be a potential threat to my carefully crafted identity.
During the day, small slips would remind me how different this life was. A casual gesture, a word, or a way of looking at something that felt natural for Bella would slip through, and I’d catch myself. Once, a classmate joked about me being quiet, asking if I’d always been “the shy type.” For a moment, my old self wanted to respond, to laugh and say, *“You have no idea!”* But I stopped myself, gave a short laugh, and mumbled something vague. Each time, it reminded me of the life I’d left behind, the girl who loved to talk, laugh, and belong. Now, those parts of me had to stay hidden.
Socializing was another challenge. Groups of students would invite me to join them for lunch or to hang out in the common areas. At first, I accepted out of politeness, but I quickly realized that even small conversations felt like walking on eggshells. Every question—Where are you from? What do you like to do for fun?—felt like a potential trap. I learned to give short, safe answers, careful never to reveal too much. Soon, I began keeping my distance, making excuses to avoid close contact with others. I could see the curiosity in their eyes, a flicker of confusion or frustration. They didn’t understand why I kept to myself. But staying detached was my only option. Friendships required trust, and trust meant exposing parts of myself I couldn’t afford to share.
The isolation was harder than I’d imagined. I missed the ease of being around people who knew me. Here, I was a mystery to everyone, even to myself. In my old life, I’d been so sure of who I was and what I wanted. But as Ben, I was learning to act differently, think differently, and even see the world through a different lens. I was creating this version of myself piece by piece, each part feeling foreign and strange. I’d trained myself to look, walk, and speak like someone else, but the cost was losing pieces of Bella with each passing day.
One evening, after a particularly grueling day of classes, I found myself walking around campus alone. The sun was setting, painting the sky with warm hues, and a gentle breeze brushed past, stirring memories of home. In that quiet moment, I felt a deep ache—a longing for my old life, the one where I didn’t have to hide. My heart tightened with the realization of what I’d given up: the comfort of belonging, of being around people who truly knew me.
As I strolled, I found myself letting my guard down, just for a few minutes. It felt good, like shedding an invisible weight, even though I knew it was temporary. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to watch my every step. But that fleeting moment of peace only made the return to reality harder. Walking back to my dorm, I pulled myself together, reminding myself that this life was my choice. The loneliness and fear, as painful as they were, were the price of my freedom.
In the days that followed, I threw myself into my studies. The intensity of the coursework left me little time to think about the past or dwell on my loneliness. I began settling into a routine, and gradually, it felt like the tightrope walk was becoming less terrifying. Each day, I got a little better at managing the mask I wore, the one that protected Ben’s identity. The idea of losing Bella felt less daunting, even though part of me feared what that would mean.
There were still moments when the isolation felt unbearable, especially when I saw groups of friends laughing together, sharing secrets, or studying late into the night. Their camaraderie reminded me of everything I’d left behind. But I forced myself to look past it, focusing on the future I was building here, the life I’d chosen. I reminded myself of the reason I was here, of the dreams I’d once held close, and the sacrifices I’d made to follow them.
One night, as I studied in the dim glow of my desk lamp, I caught my reflection in the window—a boy’s reflection, familiar yet strange. For a moment, I wondered who I’d become, who I was becoming. Was Ben just a disguise, a temporary facade to protect Bella’s dreams? Or was Ben becoming someone real, someone I would have to accept as part of myself? I didn’t have answers, but I knew that I had to keep moving forward, one step at a time.
I was learning to live as Ben, learning to make peace with the parts of myself I’d buried. It wasn’t easy, and there were nights I’d lie awake, wondering if I’d made the right choice, if freedom was worth the loneliness, the constant fear of discovery. But I reminded myself that I couldn’t go back. I’d chosen this path, and as difficult as it was, it was mine.
With each passing day, I grew more determined. I could do this. I had already made it this far. I would find a way to thrive here, to turn Ben into someone I could live with, even if it meant letting go of pieces of Bella along the way. The journey would be lonely, filled with sacrifices, but it was also my own. And as long as I could keep the past hidden, as long as I could protect the truth, I was free.
For now, I would have to find strength in that freedom.
