“Come here…”
Anna despised her own body. Since childhood, she had been plump, always envying the slender girls in her class. No matter how hard she tried—counting calories, skipping meals—the weight clung stubbornly to her frame.
“Stop punishing yourself. Eat properly. The right person will love you regardless—curves or no curves. Love isn’t about looks, it’s about heart,” her father reassured her. “Your mother was never skinny, and I adored her just the same. A woman should feel warm, like home.”
“Easy for you to say. You could eat a whole pie and not gain an ounce. Why didn’t I take after you?” Anna grumbled.
“Suddenly so determined—have you got a crush?” her mother teased.
Anna ducked her head.
“I had one in school too,” her mother sighed. “He fancied the prettiest girl in class. Broke my heart. But years later, I saw him again—and thanked my lucky stars it never worked out.”
“Why?”
“He married that girl. She demanded designer clothes, and he stole to keep up. Ended up in prison. Came out a broken man. His life was ruined. Sometimes the universe spares you.”
Anna frowned. “But if he’d chosen you—”
“He never would have. He liked slender, polished girls. Even if he had, he’d have strayed eventually. Then I’d never have met your father.” Her mother smiled softly. “Things happen as they should.”
Anna clenched her fists. “I’m still losing the weight.”
That night, she scrolled through before-and-after photos, her resolve hardening. If they could do it, so could she.
Morning came grey and drizzly. She eyed the clouds. *Maybe start tomorrow?* No—delay would become surrender. She yanked on her trainers.
The streets were empty. Good. No witnesses to her wobbly jog. Soon, her lungs burned, her side stabbed with pain, sweat soaking her shirt. She staggered to a halt. *This will get easier.*
The next day, every muscle screamed. Still, she ran—slow as a snail on the way back.
“Where’ve you been?” Her mother gaped at her damp clothes.
“Running.”
“Proud of you. I never had the discipline.” Her mother frowned as Anna refused breakfast. “Starving yourself won’t work. Pace matters in a marathon.”
Her father grinned, reaching for a scone. “Respect the grit.” He winked.
Anna’s mouth watered. *One bite won’t ruin me.* But she gulped her tea and fled.
*”She’ll waste away,”* her mother fretted behind her.
Weeks passed. Anna increased her route. One day, her jeans loosened—but the mirror showed no change.
Then two lithe girls overtook her. “Careful,” one giggled. “Wouldn’t slip on *her* grease.” The other shot Anna an apologetic glance.
That night, she signed up for dance class.
The whispers followed her—*”cow”* hissed in the changing rooms. She waited until they left.
Her mother sneaked extra food onto her plate. Anna pushed it away and ran harder.
By graduation, she’d slimmed—not model-thin, but enough to smile at her reflection.
At the ball, she hovered by the wall. Then Yuri crossed the room—pushed by their teacher, no doubt. Her cheeks flamed.
“Oi, Oakes!” A blonde smirked. “Watch your toes—Griggs might crush them!”
The room erupted in laughter. Anna bit her lip.
Yuri stopped dead. “Grow up. Maybe you’re all vile because you’re starving?”
Silence.
He spun Anna into the waltz. “Ignore them. You move like air.”
She floated. He never asked her again. That dance lived in her heart.
At med school, mornings still meant running. Dance fell by the wayside.
Social media stalking revealed Yuri’s ski trophies, his arm around faceless girls. His status: *single*.
She created *Angela*—cartoon avatar, harmless messages. He replied. Flirted. Asked to meet.
She chickened out.
Years later, she found him in ICU—broken from a bike crash.
“Prognosis?” Her voice shook.
Her professor eyed her. “Severe. Why the interest?”
“We were classmates.”
She begged to watch over him. Whispered to his coma: *”The cherry blossoms are out. You’ll wake to spring.”*
He did. Blinked up at her. “Do I know you?”
She removed her mask.
Recognition dawned. “You’re… stunning now.”
She brought him cherry branches—against hospital rules.
One day, his ex visited. Anna slipped away.
“Who’s got you moping?” her mother probed.
She cracked. Told her about Yuri.
When she returned after exams, his bed was empty.
Then—on a grocery run—he limped into view.
“Griggs.” His grin was sunlight. “I’ve been walking this block for weeks. No one knew your address.”
She eyed his cane. “Painful?”
“Worth it.” His smile faded. “Why’d you stop visiting?”
“I saw her with you.”
“She came back when she heard I’d recover. Forgiveness doesn’t mean revival.” He searched her face. “And *Angela*?”
Anna flushed. “That was me. I… hid. I wasn’t thin enough then.”
He pulled her close. “Silly girl. I mourned you.”
At her flat, her mother gaped. “The ICU patient?”
Their wedding toast sealed it.
“Eat,” Yuri whispered. “I can’t carry you drunk.”
She laughed, dragging him to dance.
Freud was right—childhood dreams do bring happiness. But first, you must fight for them.
