Louise settled comfortably into the café sofa, waiting for her order while enjoying her favourite cappuccino and éclair before the workday began. She often came here to brighten her mood with coffee and pastries. Snowflakes drifted past the window as she took a sip of the hot drink. At the table across from her, two young women chatted, clearly close friends.
“Listen, I ran into my exs new girlfriend the other day. Honestly, shes no beauty. What on earth does he see in her?”
“Maybe she makes a cracking roast dinner? Or works miracles in bed?” her friend teased.
“Oh, come off it! Just look at her Facebook photos. Shes not exactly turning heads.”
They laughed, but Louise froze. The words took her back to when she was seven, overhearing her mother say to her father, “Our Louise isnt much to look at, but she makes up for it with hard work.”
As an adult, Louise took meticulous care of her appearance. Yet no matter how much effort she put in, she never felt beautiful enough. Her mother often reassured her, “Hold your head high, love. If not by looks, charm them with your wit. Study, work hardyou wont be left behind.”
At school, shed been self-conscious about her plain features and boyish frame. At university, she learned to dress stylishly and apply makeup. She even found a boyfriendthough hed often joke about her “flat backside” or “big feet.” Louise realised that even if she were clever, love might still elude her. She made peace with it and carried on.
After finishing her coffee and pastry, she hurried to work. At lunch, she stopped by her friends flat to feed the cat and water the plants. Emma had gone to Spain for a fortnight, and her husband was rarely home. “If he does bump into Louise, he wont even glance her way,” Emma had thought before leaving.
Arriving at the flat, Louise first filled the bowl for the sleeping cat, Whiskers, then tended to the flowers. Music played softly from the next room. Recognising the tune, she hummed along”Somewhere Only We Know”and suddenly, the flat felt warm and bright. In that song, among the flowers, she felt weightless, as if floating. Unthinkingly, she began to dance, twirling between the blooms, lost in the moment.
Suddenly, voices broke the spell.
Louise turned to see two menDaniel, Emmas husband, and a strangerboth staring in surprise. “How embarrassing!” she thought.
“Louise, hello. This is my mate, James. We just popped in for some papers. You were dancing so beautifullywe couldnt look away. Sorry if we startled you.”
“IEmma asked me to”
Flustered, Louise hurried toward the door but tripped over Whiskers, crashing to the floor. Darkness swallowed her vision.
She woke in a hospital bed.
“Hello there. How are you feeling? Im Sarah, your neighbour. Just a mild concussion, the doctor says. Youve had visitorsa courier and a gentleman with flowers,” the woman said kindly.
“Thank you,” Louise murmured.
She sat up carefully, reached for the bag by the window, and found fresh fruit, juice, and her favourite éclairslikely from Emma and Daniel. Then she noticed the bouquet and a note: *”Louise, get well soon. Someone as lovely as you doesnt belong in hospital. Fancy the Chelsea Flower Show? No refusals. James.”*
Louise pressed her face into the white chrysanthemums, overcome with happiness, and hugged Sarah tight.
Beauty doesnt always shout. Sometimes its a quiet warmth, glowing from withinand everyone carries their own kind of light.
