The sun filtered weakly through my blinds, hitting the messy corner of my dorm. I groaned, burying my face in my pillow. Another day of university. Another day of being painfully aware of everyone else.
Yesterday had been… small progress. A smile. A shared project. A pen. Tiny sparks. But now, as I stared at the ceiling, I realized something I hadn't before: it wasn't just about Emily. It wasn't even about Michael. It was about me.
I hated the way I looked. The way I moved. The way my body felt weak, uncoordinated, invisible. I wanted to feel… capable. To exist without fear of tripping over myself, of looking foolish, of fading into the background.
So when I saw the schedule for PE today, I froze for a moment. Sports weren't my thing. Never had been. But maybe this was the start of… something.
---
The gym smelled like sweat and polished wood. Students ran laps, passed balls, and laughed effortlessly. Confidence had a physical form here, and I felt the opposite.
Jason appeared beside me, already stretching with the casual ease of someone who didn't care if anyone watched. "Ready for humiliation?" he asked, smirking.
I groaned. "I'll probably just… sit on the bench."
He clapped me on the shoulder. "Bench? Bro, that's giving up before the first whistle. Let's see some effort. Tiny steps, remember?"
I nodded weakly, adjusting my shorts and sneakers, trying to summon courage.
---
The first activity was dodgeball. I thought I could last five minutes without looking like a complete fool.
I was wrong.
The ball came flying toward me. I raised my hands too late. Tripped over my own feet. Fell flat on my face. Laughter rippled around the gym, light teasing, nothing cruel, but enough to make my ears burn.
I got up, heart hammering, face red. Tried again. Another ball. Another misstep. My coordination betrayed me at every turn.
Then it happened. A fast throw I tried to dodge went wrong. I stumbled backward, the ball grazing my face. Pain shot through my nose, hot and sharp. Blood.
My hands flew to my face. My vision blurred.
Jason leaned over from across the court, eyes wide. "Dude… uh… classic."
I ignored him, crouched on the floor, trying to stem the flow. Humiliation layered on top of physical pain. I felt like I could disappear entirely and nobody would notice.
---
Then a calm voice.
"Are you okay?"
I looked up. Emily. Standing there, her ponytail bouncing slightly as she held a tissue. She didn't look shocked. She didn't look repulsed. Just… concerned.
"Uh… yeah," I mumbled, not trusting my voice.
She knelt beside me. "Here, let me help." She handed me the tissue, gently pressing it against the bridge of my nose. Her hands were steady, careful, almost like she'd done this before.
"Thanks," I said again, weakly. My embarrassment multiplied tenfold.
She smiled softly. "You'll be fine. Don't worry."
I didn't move. I just stared. Her presence felt… unreal. Like sunlight breaking through gray clouds. And for a brief moment, the chaos of the gym, the laughter, the balls flying past—it all faded.
Jason hovered behind me, whispering: "Bro… classic romance moment. You're bleeding, she's helping… yeah, we're living anime right now."
I groaned and focused on not dying of shame.
---
The rest of the class passed in a blur. I tried to participate, still shaky, still uncoordinated. I missed more catches, tripped a few times, and got laughed at lightly. But Emily checked on me occasionally, offering encouragement or a small nod of acknowledgment.
By the end, I was sore, blood cleaned up, sneakers scuffed, and ego thoroughly bruised.
Jason slapped me on the back. "Congrats, man. You survived. And hey, you didn't actually break anything. That's improvement."
I stared at him. "This isn't improvement. I look like a fool."
"You're aware of it. That's step one," he said, grinning. "Tomorrow, you get better. Tiny moves, remember?"
I sighed. Tiny moves… maybe.
---
Walking back to the dorm, my sneakers squished slightly on the wet campus path. I thought about Emily, her calm hands, her gentle voice. I thought about Michael, laughing, tossing balls like it was nothing, effortless as always. And I thought about myself—clumsy, weak, invisible.
But for the first time, a tiny spark ignited. I wanted to change. Not to beat Michael. Not just to impress Emily. But to stop feeling so small in a world that didn't wait for people like me.
Emily's smile, brief as it was, had planted the seed. And the nosebleed? Embarrassing, humiliating… yes. But a marker. A start.
I clenched my fists lightly as I walked. I didn't know how I would change yet. Gym? Skills? Body? Confidence? All of it? Doesn't matter. Step by step. Tiny moves.
And for the first time, bleeding and bruised and completely mortified, I felt… ready.