College felt different now. Not just because of the new hair and makeup — though that definitely helped — but because I was finally starting to feel like I belonged.
It wasn't instant. No magic "popularity spell" was cast. Instead, it was little moments. Like when Sophie dragged me to the campus club fair a few days after my "big reveal." I was nervous at first, standing awkwardly by the tables, clutching a campus map like it was a life raft. But Sophie was a whirlwind, bouncing from booth to booth, introducing me like I was the guest of honor.
"We have to check out the Literature Society," she said, dragging me along. "Smart, creative people who love books. Sounds like your tribe."
The Literature Society's room was cozy — mismatched chairs, walls covered in posters of famous authors, and a faint smell of old paper and coffee. I spotted Maya immediately. She had a warm smile and eyes that sparkled when she laughed. We struck up a conversation about a poetry book I'd read last summer, and before I knew it, we were trading favorite verses and even sharing playlists.
"You like indie folk? Same here," Maya said, grinning. "Finally, someone who gets it."
That small connection felt like sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky.
Then, in Biology class, I met Andre. He was the kind of guy who made complicated science sound like a story instead of a headache. One day, I was struggling with a particularly nasty problem set, and he noticed.
"Need a study buddy?" he asked, flashing a lopsided smile.
We started meeting at the library, quizzing each other and explaining concepts like biology detectives. Andre wasn't just smart — he was patient and funny, and he never made me feel less-than, even when I got something wrong.
One evening after a study session, we ended up grabbing coffee at the campus café. He asked about my high school days, and I found myself opening up in a way I hadn't with anyone outside Sophie.
"I was kind of invisible before," I admitted. "Not just socially, but everywhere. Like I didn't matter."
Andre nodded thoughtfully. "I get that. But you're here now. You're changing the story."
With every new connection, a little part of that lonely, invisible girl I'd been started to melt away. I caught myself laughing more, speaking up in class, even volunteering answers without rehearsing them a hundred times in my head first.
One afternoon, Sophie caught me humming as we walked back from the library.
"Look at you — turning into a regular social butterfly," she teased.
I grinned. "I'm just… trying to be less me."
She nudged me. "You don't have to try so hard. The best part? You're still you — just more visible."
Later that night, I lay in bed scrolling through my phone when a message from Maya popped up:
"Hey, want to come to a poetry reading this Friday? It's super chill, and you can bring Sophie!"
I smiled. Invitations like this used to feel like secrets I wasn't part of. Now, they felt like a door opening.
I looked out my window at the campus lights twinkling in the dark and felt something new stirring inside me.
Hope. Confidence. Maybe even a little excitement.
Maybe, just maybe, this was only the beginning.