Between Appearance and Soul

Between Appearance and Soul

Some girls are noticed for their beauty.
Ananya was noticed for nothing.

At fifteen, Ananya stepped into a new school carrying fear like a second uniform. Short, brown-skinned, and painfully ordinary, she understood from the very first day that the world had already measured her worth. In a place where confidence and appearance spoke louder than character, she hoped invisibility would protect her.

Every morning, she followed the same careful routine. She oiled her hair generously, combed it straight, tied it neatly, and adjusted her uniform before entering the classroom. She believed discipline and neatness might compensate for everything she lacked. But the moment she walked in, eyes turned—not with curiosity, but with quiet judgment. Difference was noticed, but never welcomed.

She chose a corner seat and remained there. Days passed. Weeks followed. No one spoke to her unless it was necessary. Slowly, labels formed around her—silent, dull, weak. When her academic performance failed to impress, the distance between her and her classmates grew wider. She tried to mingle, tried to speak, tried to smile, but most conversations ended quickly. Some students spoke to her only when they needed help or notes. Once their purpose was fulfilled, they forgot her presence. She felt used, like something temporary and easily discarded.

Loneliness settled inside her quietly.

It was during this time that she noticed Rohan.

He was everything she was not—confident, good-looking, intelligent, and admired. When he spoke, people listened. Girls smiled effortlessly around him. To Ananya, he seemed perfect. Without realizing it, she began to look for him every day. When he spoke to her, even casually, her heart reacted in ways she did not understand. His attention made her feel visible, almost beautiful.

Ananya had one close friend, Ishita, a girl admired for her beauty and ease. Ishita fit into the world naturally, as though it had been designed for her. The three of them spent time together, and within that small circle, Ananya’s feelings for Rohan grew silently. She never confessed them. She was afraid—afraid of rejection, afraid of comparison, afraid that her appearance and poor academic performance made her unworthy. She hid her marks from others, ashamed of her failures and of herself.

Rohan spoke kindly to her, and Ananya mistook kindness for interest. She searched for meaning in his words, believing his attention meant something more. She fell for him without truly knowing him—loving his appearance, his charm, and the way he made her feel for brief moments.

When her feelings were revealed—not by her choice, but through Ishita—everything changed. Fear consumed her. Rohan slowly stopped talking to her, his silence heavier than any harsh rejection. A month later, Ananya learned the truth: Rohan and Ishita had been in love. Though their relationship later ended due to family pressure, the wound in Ananya’s heart remained.

Years passed, but she never truly forgot Rohan. Seeing him, even from a distance, brought her a strange happiness. It was not joy, but familiarity—a reminder of who she once was. Life moved forward, but that memory stayed behind.

Much later, they reconnected through Instagram. They began talking again. Rohan did not recognize her at first. When he finally did, it felt like being erased all over again. Ananya told him everything—her feelings, her silence, her past. Despite everything, she still believed he was a good person.

She was wrong.

Rohan listened without depth, replying only when it suited him. He used her emotions to escape boredom. When Ananya mentioned Ishita, he spoke casually, calling her his first love. That sentence shattered something inside her. Still, Ananya confessed her love, hoping for honesty. Rohan showed no reaction. To him, it meant nothing.

Later, he admitted he was already in a relationship. Ananya realized then that she had never been special—only a distraction. After his breakup, he returned again, speaking sweetly, until he found another girl. This time, he shared pictures openly, proudly, as if to show her exactly where she stood.

That was when Ananya stopped responding.

For the first time, she saw Rohan clearly. He loved appearances, not souls. He measured people by how they looked, not by how deeply they felt. He had rejected her repeatedly—not because of her character, but because of her appearance.

And then came something heavier than heartbreak—shame.

Ananya felt ashamed for having offered her feelings so freely, for mistaking attention for affection, for lowering her own worth in her own eyes. Not because love was foolish, but because she had placed it in the hands of someone who never respected it. The shame was not about loving Rohan—it was about forgetting herself.

But shame did not break her.

It taught her restraint. It taught her self-respect. It taught her that a heart must be protected as carefully as it is given.

Ananya did not walk away believing she was unlovable.
She walked away knowing she had loved deeply—and that the wrong person had simply been standing in front of her.

This time, she chose herself. And she waited—not for love decided by appearance, but for a soul that would recognize her without conditions.