Was I Ever Really Lonely?

I remember being fifteen, standing in front of yet another new classroom, my thirteenth school. By then, I had mastered the art of blending in. I knew how to scan a room and find the misfits, the quiet ones, the people most likely to welcome an outsider. But this time felt different. The weight of judgment was heavier, the stares lingered longer. My bleach-blonde hair showed dark roots, my secondhand shoes were scuffed, and my outdated uniform made me stick out even more. As I looked around at the tight-knit groups of friends, a deep ache settled in my chest. These kids had history. They had real connections. And I had… a fake smile and the ability to make small talk.

But even in my loneliness, I had a secret. One that kept me going through every move, every loss, every tear-filled goodbye. No matter how many times I had to start over, no matter how alone I felt—was I ever really alone?