MBTI high school

Chapter 54:

Chapter 54: The Return of ISFJ

It had started early—far too early. Since the age of seven, ISFJ had never truly known peace. At home, love was just an empty word, drowned in screams, blame, and slamming doors. Her parents argued in public just as they did at home. And she, a small shadow in the middle of the battlefield, never knew if they were about to tear each other apart or simply ignore each other.

Then came the day of the divorce. The papers were signed without ceremony, the suitcases packed in silence. Her mother got custody. They moved far away, to a city where nothing had taste or color. Everything was gray. Especially her heart.

She missed her father. Painfully. Cruelly. It wasn't that he had been perfect—far from it. But he had been there. A reference point. A fixed star in a shifting world.

In middle school, ISFJ became invisible. A little bubble of air, transparent to others, foreign among children already well-established in their cliques. No one knew her. No one wanted to. And the more she stayed silent, the more she faded away.

One day, she realized she couldn’t speak properly anymore. The words stuck. Her throat tightened. She stuttered—in front of teachers. Worse: in front of her mother.

She remembers. It was a Sunday afternoon. The sky was clear, almost cheerful, and she had naively decided to share her presentation on moths with her mother.

— ISFJ: Mom, you know… in the family of… of… lepidop…tera, there are also… the moths…

Her mother, who had been looking elsewhere, suddenly turned her head with a grimace of disgust.

— Her mother: Shut up. You're an embarrassment.

The shock was brutal. The world stopped. ISFJ, eyes wide, felt her vocal cords freeze forever. She didn’t say another word. That day, a part of her died.

Her mother wasn’t wrong, she thought. She was an embarrassment. Broken. Defective. Why couldn’t she speak like everyone else? She used to, after all.

Things only got worse. The neighborhood kids constantly bullied her. They made fun of her oversized or outdated clothes. Her stutter. Her silence. At school, she was only useful for lending notebooks, doing homework, or serving as a human shield when a teacher yelled.

Then, one winter evening, her mother said with a trembling voice:

— Her mother: I… I gave your custody back to your father. You're going to live with him again.

ISFJ didn’t react immediately. Too stunned.

— Her mother: I’m sorry. For everything. My behavior… I was… I was selfish. I’m in therapy now. I’m starting to understand… the harm I’ve caused you.

Her mother’s voice broke. And in that crack, ISFJ saw something she hadn’t seen in years: sincerity.

She smiled softly.

— ISFJ: I for… forgave you… a long… long time ago…

But forgiving didn’t mean forgetting. Her mother’s words still echoed in her head. So did the mockery. The stares. It was all carved into her. She cried that night, her face buried in her pillow, muffling her sobs so she wouldn’t wake the one who had just apologized.

And then, the day of her departure arrived.

Her father was waiting at the train station. He hadn’t changed… except for a ridiculous mustache proudly sitting on his upper lip.

— Her father (smiling): So? I let it grow just for you. How do you like it?

ISFJ looked at him, half-embarrassed, half-amused.

— ISFJ: It’s… it’s… lo… look… lookable.

Her father burst into laughter, glancing back at her.

— Her father: Seriously? Fine, I’ll shave it tonight. I wanted you to think it was magnificent!

She didn’t reply. A smile escaped her, despite herself. He wasn’t perfect, but he was trying.

They arrived at a familiar house. Hers. The one from her childhood. Everything seemed smaller. Less intimidating. She went up to her room and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be her first day at a new school.

The next morning, she stood before the tall school gate. A lump in her throat. Students filed in, laughing and shouting. Then, a voice rang out:

— ???: Make way!

She didn’t have time to turn around before a pair of oversized sunglasses crashed into her. She landed on the ground, next to a skateboard.

— ISFJ: Ouch…

The boy in front of her took off his sunglasses dramatically, revealing bright, mischievous eyes beneath blond locks.

— ISFJ (whispering): ESTP.

— ESTP (serious): Nope, no autographs.

A girl in a yellow dress smacked him hard on the head.

— ESFP: Are you stupid or what?! That’s ISFJ!

— ESTP: ISFJ? Hmm… doesn’t ring a bell.

— ESFP: Miss Class Justice! Miss Assistant Teacher!

— ESTP (shouting, jumping to grab her hands): Ooooh! IT’S YOU! I MISSED YOUUUUUUUUUUU!

— ??? (deadpan): Funny. A minute ago, you didn’t know who she was.

The voice came from behind. A boy with tan skin in a purple jacket walked past nonchalantly.

— ESTP (shouting): INTJ! No one asked you!

But INTJ was already gone.

— ESFP: Let him go. Come on, ISFJ, I’ll show you around… Wait, did you see that smoke over there?

ISFJ looked up just in time to be tackled by a blond whirlwind.

— ???: WAAAAAAAH! I MISSED YOU SO MUCHHHHHHHHH!

— ISFJ: ENFJ?!

She was immediately pulled into a hug that felt more like a wrestling move. Then ESFJ and ESFP joined in. ESTP vaulted over the fence to pile on. And as if it were a secret cuddle cult, ENTP leaped from his car to jump into the group hug. Then, in another classroom:

— INFP (suddenly standing up): Something… something is calling me! I feel… waves of tenderness!

She ran out of the room to join the group hug.

ISFJ, at the center of the human pile, was literally suffocating. She tried to speak.

— ISFJ: Ge… get off… You’re… you’re… squ… squishing… me…

Silence fell.

She felt her heart sink. They were going to mock her. Reject her.

But ENFJ immediately sat up.

— ENFJ: Oh no! Sorry! We got carried away!

— ENTP (muttering): Speak for yourself. I just followed the herd.

He was rewarded with a majestic toe-crush from ENFJ, causing him to scream and limp toward the school entrance, cursing every blonde goddess he knew.

— ESTP (laughing): You’re still as dramatic as ever, ENTP!

ISFJ, lying on the ground, watched the scene. They hadn’t laughed at her. Not even a grimace. Nothing.

ESFJ held out her hand.

— ESFJ: Come on, you coming?

She nodded. Very slowly.

— ISFJ: Y… Yes.

And as she walked beside them, her heart whispered something she hadn’t heard in a long time:

She was home.