“Come here…”
Emily despised her body. Since childhood, she had been chubby, envying the slender girls at school. No matter how many diets she tried, the weight never budged.
“Stop tormenting yourself. Eat properly. The right person will love you no matter what—thin or not. Love isn’t about looks, it’s about heart and character,” her father reassured her. “Your mother was never skinny, but that didn’t stop me from loving her. A woman should be warm and comforting.”
“Easy for you to say. You never gain weight, no matter how many pies you eat. Why didn’t I take after you?” Emily grumbled.
“Did you start all this because you’ve got a crush?” her mother suddenly asked.
Emily lowered her gaze.
“I had a crush at school too—miserable, I was. He fancied the prettiest girl in class. But after graduation, I stopped seeing him daily and moved on. Years later, I bumped into him on the street. And you know what? I was glad nothing ever happened between us.”
“Why?” Emily asked.
“He married that beautiful girl. But she demanded expensive clothes, and he didn’t earn much. So he got involved in fraud, stole a fortune. Went to prison. Came out a different man. His wife left him, no one would hire him, and he turned to drink. And it all started so perfectly,” her mother sighed.
“Your dad and I struggled too, especially when you were born. But we managed. So if he doesn’t choose you, maybe it’s for the best. What’s meant for you won’t pass you by.”
“But if he’d chosen you, he wouldn’t have stolen or gone to prison,” Emily mused.
“He never would’ve chosen me. He liked pretty, thin girls. Even if he had, he’d have cheated eventually. We’d still have divorced. But then I’d never have met your dad.” Her mother smiled. “Everything happens for a reason.”
“I still want to lose weight,” Emily said stubbornly.
That evening, she scrolled through weight-loss blogs, staring at before-and-after photos. If they could do it, so could she.
The next morning, she stretched and glanced at the clock. Plenty of time to laze. Then she remembered last night’s resolution. She peered outside—the sky was grey, threatening rain. *Maybe start tomorrow when it’s nicer? No. If I delay now, I’ll never begin.* Determined, she pulled on her tracksuit.
The streets were empty—good, no one to see her. She set off at a jog.
Soon, her lungs burned, her side ached, sweat trickled down her face. She paused, wheezing, shook out her arms like windmills, and trudged home. *Fine. I’ll get used to it.*
The next morning, every muscle screamed. Gritting her teeth, she ran again, returning at a snail’s pace.
“You’re soaked!” her mother exclaimed as Emily entered.
“Running.”
“Taking up exercise? Good for you. I never had the willpower. Go shower and eat, or you’ll be late for school.”
“No pastries. Just coffee,” Emily said firmly.
“Suit yourself. But starting too fast risks burnout. Pace yourself, or you won’t reach the finish line,” her mother chided.
“Proud of you,” her dad said, clapping her back before biting into a scone. “Respect the dedication.”
“You’re not dieting too?” Her mother frowned. “I baked these for nothing?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll eat Emily’s share,” he winked, devouring another.
Emily swallowed hard. *One scone won’t ruin everything. Sudden starvation isn’t healthy.* Still, she resisted, gulped her coffee, and left.
“Now she’ll starve herself,” her mother sighed.
Emily didn’t hear her father’s reply.
Weeks passed. She increased her distance, noticed her jeans looser. Rushing to the mirror, she saw no change.
One day, two lithe girls overtook her. Emily stepped aside. “No wonder it’s slippery—dripping fat from the whale,” one giggled. The other hushed her, shooting Emily an apologetic smile.
*I’ll never succeed. Maybe dancing instead?* She enrolled in a beginner’s class.
Hunger gnawed until she felt faint. In the school canteen, she quickened her pace. At dance, girls in the locker room called her a cow. Humiliated, she waited until they left before changing.
Her mother fretted, sneaking extra fish or a sausage onto her plate. Emily refused, running harder each morning.
By prom, she’d slimmed noticeably. Far from slender, but she liked her reflection.
After certificates and speeches, the dancing began. Emily hesitated, fearing more taunts. Then she saw Mr. Thompson whisper to James. As a slow song played, James crossed the room toward her. *The teacher made him ask me.* Her stomach twisted. *Does everyone pity me?* Still, she joined him. This might be her only chance. Few couples danced.
“Careful, James! If Stephens steps on your foot, you’ll be crippled,” the prettiest girl called. Laughter erupted. Emily bit her lip, tears welling. James stopped.
“Enough. It’s not funny. You’re bitter because you’re starving yourselves?”
Silence fell.
“Ignore them. You dance beautifully,” James said, twirling her again.
She floated, cheeks flushed—but he didn’t ask her again. *No matter. I’ll remember this forever.*
At university, Emily studied medicine, still running through fatigue. Dancing fell aside. Slowly, the weight dropped further.
She and James lost touch. Social media showed his skiing trophies, sometimes flanked by girls. Jealousy gnawed at her. His status still read “single.”
She created a fake account—Angela, with a cartoon avatar. She messaged him: *Well done! Wishing you more wins!* He replied. They chatted—music, studies, life. On his birthday, she sent a card.
“*Let’s meet,*” he wrote. Thrilled, she agreed—then panicked. *I’m still fat. He’ll laugh or reject me.*
Hiding around the corner, she watched him wait. Yearning to approach, she nearly cried. Later, she texted, “*Last-minute emergency. Sorry.*”
“*Tomorrow?*”
“*Exam on Wednesday. Too much to study.*”
She ghosted him but stalked his page. One girl appeared often, then a ring photo: “*Found the one I’d do anything for. Like the ring?*” That night, she sobbed into her pillow.
No wedding photos followed. She stopped checking.
During emergency-medicine rotations, she entered intensive care—and froze. James lay swathed in wires.
“Motorbike accident. Two surgeries, four days in a coma,” the lecturer explained.
“Will he recover?” Emily blurted.
“You know him, Stephens?”
“My classmate.”
“Severe head trauma, fractures—ribs, femur, pelvis. Prognosis uncertain. The longer the coma, the grimmer.”
After class, Emily begged to sit with him.
“You won’t help.”
“Please.”
Lecturer relented. She spent hours there, leaving when his parents visited. She told his sleeping form about spring blossoms, certain he’d wake.
Finally, he did.
“Hi,” she said softly. “How are you?”
“Who… are you?”
“Don’t you recognize me? Emily Stephens. We were in school together.”
“The mask,” he mumbled.
She removed it.
He studied her. “You’ve lost weight. You look… amazing.”
“You remember me? They’re moving you to a ward tomorrow. I’ve got lectures.”
“You’re studying medicine?”
“Yeah. I’ll visit.”
Next day, she brought cherry blossoms. “Against the rules, but just for a bit,” she smiled.
A month later, he could stand. She visited less, rotations shifted.
“You’re beautiful. Why settle for me? Pity?” he asked once.
“I hate pity. Remember prom? You stood up for me. No one ever had before.”
He looked away.
“Where’s the girl you gave the ring to? Only your mum visits, they said.”
“How’d you know?”
“You posted it. She left when she thought you’d be disabled.” His smile was bitter. “But you stayed.”
“Because I knew you’d heal. You’re recovering fast—soon, no crutches.”
“Why do you come less?”
“Exams. You’ll be discharged anyway.”
Once, she entered his ward to find *her* there—the ring girl. Unnoticed, Emily slipped out.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asked that evening. “You’ve been down since yesterday.”
“Just studies.” Then she confessed about James.
She didn’t return. After exams, his bed was empty.
Months later, she bumped into him outside aHe took her hand, the same way he had years ago on the dance floor, and whispered, “This time, I’m not letting you disappear.”
