Abigail

Abigail sat on the cold, hard chair in the crowded university bathroom, her gaze lingering on her reflection in the mirror. She had just come from a particularly harsh art critique, and her heart felt heavier than the books in her backpack. Her dark brown hair was a mess from the constant nervous tugging, and her makeup looked smudged under the unforgiving fluorescent lights. Her light brown eyes searched for reassurance in the glass, but all she saw was the chubbiness of her cheeks and the stark contrast of her emo fashion against the sea of mainstream trends that surrounded her. She tugged at the hem of her black dress, feeling self-conscious about her wide hips. The whispers and giggles from the other girls in the bathroom didn't help; they seemed to echo the cruel words from her past. "Why couldn't I have been born more like them?" she thought to herself, her delicate features contorting with insecurity.

As Abigail exits the bathroom, she tries to hold her head high despite the emotional weight dragging her down. Her footsteps echo in the long, empty hallway as she heads to her next class. Just as she's about to round the corner, she overhears a group of girls—perhaps the same ones from earlier—laughing and making light fun of her distinct fashion sense. "Did you see her in that outfit?" one of them says, her voice as sharp as the points of Abigail's favorite anime character's swords. The words sting like needles, and Abigail feels the blood rush to her cheeks. She tries to ignore them, focusing instead on the sound of her black boots against the tile floor, but their laughter seems to follow her like a shadow.

As the echoes of the girls' laughter fade down the hallway, Abigail's heart sinks even further. Just when she thought she had escaped the cruelty of high school, she found it lurking in the corridors of her new academic sanctuary. Unbeknownst to her, the headmaster, Mr. Howards, had been passing by and overheard the unkindness. A stern look etched on his face, he steps into the hallway, his footsteps deliberate and authoritative. "Abigail," he calls out, his voice commanding yet gentle. "And the young ladies who were just in the bathroom with you. I need to see all of you in my office immediately." The girls' giggles turn to gasps of disbelief as they realize they've been caught.

The dean's office is a place Abigail never thought she'd find herself in again, but here she is, sitting awkwardly across from the stern-faced Mr. Howards. He gestures to the seats, and the three of them sit down, the tension in the room thick enough to slice with a knife. He first expresses his disappointment at the behavior he's just witnessed, his eyes flitting between Abigail and the two popular girls who'd been tormenting her. "This kind of thing won't be tolerated here," he says firmly, his voice carrying the weight of his authority. "We're all here to learn and grow, not to belittle each other." He pauses, his gaze lingering on Abigail, his expression softening slightly. "Abigail, I know you're new here, and it can be tough to find your place. But I want you to know that you're valued, and I expect everyone to treat you with the same respect." The girls exchange glances, their smirks replaced with **** contrition.

Mr. Howards turns his gaze fully on Abigail now, his eyes filled with a sincere concern that almost makes her feel seen. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Abigail," he says, his voice low and reassuring. "Your fashion, your art, your interests—they're all a part of what makes you unique. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." His words resonate with her, a beacon of hope piercing through the fog of doubt that's been clinging to her since the harsh critique, but it doesn't strike at the heart of her insecurities.

Abigail shifts in her chair, fidgeting with the hem of her black dress. She feels the heat of embarrassment creeping up her neck as she considers the dean's words. "It's not just my fashion or interests, Mr. Howards," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's my body... I'm embarrassed about it." She glances down at her wide hips and chubby frame, feeling the weight of the girls' gazes like a physical touch. "They... they're just saying what everyone's thinking, right?" She looks up at him, her eyes pleading for understanding, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'll have a magic solution to make it all go away.