𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫

five

Summer

The start of the school year always brings this strange mix of excitement and dread. For most people, it's a chance to see friends again, make new memories, and show off the growth — or the glow-up — they've had over summer. For me, it's mostly about avoiding the stares, the whispers, and the inevitable comparisons.

I'm at my desk, halfway through a review for my online courses, when my phone buzzes beside me. Kayali's name flashes on the screen, complete with heart emojis and a dancing flame. I already know what she's going to say.

With a sigh, I answer. "Hey, Kay. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing much... except there's a back-to-school party happening tonight, and guess what? You're coming with me."

"Kayali, you know how I feel about parties." My voice comes out firmer than I expected, but I need her to understand. Just because I look different now doesn't mean I feel like a completely different person. I'm not magically confident and ready to face everyone who used to look right through me or — worse — laugh behind my back.

"Summer, I know. But hear me out." Her voice softens, like she's trying to approach me carefully, like a fragile object she doesn't want to break. "You've worked hard. You're a new you. You don't have to prove anything to anyone, but this could be your chance to step into the world as the Summer I know."

I groan, leaning back in my chair. "Kay, just because I changed my outside doesn't mean the inside is suddenly all fixed. What if everyone still sees me the same way? Or worse, what if they all make a bigger deal about it?"

"That's exactly why you should go, Summer. Because it's not about them. You've spent so long in this little box you put yourself in. You're homeschooled, which means you barely leave the house unless I drag you out. But this... this is a chance to show everyone that you've moved on and that you don't care what they think."

I chew on my lip, hating how her words are starting to get to me. She's right in some ways — hiding has always felt safe. But deep down, I know there's a part of me that's curious, that wonders what it would feel like to just... show up. To let people see me without hiding.

"Fine," I say, the word leaving my lips before I can talk myself out of it. "I'll go, but you owe me one. And if it's terrible, we're leaving early."

Kayali's cheer on the other end of the line is so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear. "Deal! Trust me, you won't regret this. I'll be there around eight to pick you up, okay?"

"Alright, see you then." I hang up, staring at my reflection in the mirror above my desk. The face looking back at me is one I've tried to reshape, tried to perfect. But I still wonder if people will look beyond the surface or if they'll still see me as the "old" Summer.

I shake my head and go back to my notes, though the words blur in front of me.

🫧 𓇼 ೀ

I stand in front of my open closet, staring at the rows of clothes with a sense of dread building in my stomach.

Even with all the things I've changed about myself over the past few months, this still feels impossible. Nothing ever looks the way I want it to. Or, at least, nothing ever looks the way I hope it will.

My hands hover over a hanger with a fitted black top that I thought looked cute when I bought it, but now I'm not so sure. Every outfit feels like it's exposing every flaw, as if the mirror can see right through me.

I try on a few things — a pair of low-waisted jeans with a tank top, a skirt with a tucked-in blouse. Each one makes me feel uncomfortable in a different way. I fidget with the fabric, adjusting and readjusting, my eyes zeroing in on the way the fabric clings too tightly here or how it feels too loose there. My mind picks apart every detail, reminding me of every imperfection.

I pull off the jeans and the top, tossing them into a pile of rejected outfits on my bed. I'm already starting to feel exhausted, and I haven't even left the house yet.

I glance at the full-length mirror, catching sight of myself before I quickly look away. A few months ago, I would have turned away instantly, shutting down the voice in my head that lists everything that's "wrong." But tonight... tonight, I can't help but look, even if it hurts.

It's hard to believe how much I've changed. Physically, at least. The mirror shows a girl with a thinner waist, sharper cheekbones, and arms that don't look as round as they once did. But somehow, I still don't see the "new" Summer that Kayali keeps talking about. I just see... all the flaws that I still feel the need to fix.

I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to push away the familiar, suffocating voice in my head that keeps telling me I'm still not good enough. I know I need to find something to wear, but it feels impossible to find something that I feel... okay in. Something that doesn't make me want to hide.

Then, my eyes land on a sundress I'd nearly forgotten about, buried in the back of my closet. It's a light, sunny yellow — the color reminds me of bright days and warmth, even though I don't often feel that way. I pull it off the hanger, holding it up against myself and studying the way the soft, flowy fabric falls. It's loose, not too tight or restrictive, and it seems almost... gentle.

I slip into the dress, feeling the fabric fall softly around me. It doesn't cling in the way the jeans did, and it doesn't feel like it's drawing too much attention to any particular part of me. Instead, it just feels light. Almost like a breath of fresh air.

For the first time tonight, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and feel... okay. Not perfect, not flawless, but okay. The color makes my skin look a little warmer, and the way the dress flows makes me feel a bit less self-conscious. I tug at the hem, trying to settle into the feeling, adjusting the straps on my shoulders.

It's strange, because this dress feels like the kind of thing I would never have picked before. I used to think I needed dark colors, fitted clothes, things that would "hide" me more. But tonight, the yellow somehow feels right, even though it's completely different.

I take another deep breath, looking at my reflection. The girl in the mirror is still me, but tonight, there's a softness in her eyes that I haven't seen in a while. A tiny, cautious glimmer of confidence.