Orlet

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It was one of those days again.

“Weather’s nice,” someone said on the radio.

She stared out the small window of her room, the kind of stare that doesn’t really look at anything. It was raining. Maybe the person on the radio lived in another city. Or maybe they were lying. People lie all the time. Especially when there’s nothing else to say.

“Nice for what?” she muttered to herself. “It’s not like I’m going out to enjoy it.”

Her room smelled like old laundry and tears. She didn’t even notice it anymore. There were packets of instant noodles on the floor, a mirror face-down on the desk, and a blanket on the bed that hadn’t been washed in weeks. Her phone buzzed—probably some useless notification. She didn’t bother checking.

Minji used to care.

Used to wear headbands with ribbons and smile at strangers on the subway.

But now?

Now she was just… there.

Every time she walked past someone, she felt it. The glance. The whisper. The silence that said everything louder than words ever could.

“Ew, look at her face…”

“Why doesn’t she cover up?”

“God, she’s fat.”

Kids were cruel. Teens were worse. Adults were quieter about it, but their eyes were knives.

She looked into her phone’s black screen. Not to take a selfie. Just… to see herself without filters. The acne had gotten worse. Some of it scabbed, some new. The puffiness around her cheeks made her look swollen. She hated mirrors. Hated them like they were living things.

“Maybe I’m just a mistake.”

She laughed. The kind that makes your throat dry. There was no joke.

She remembered middle school. Ha-eun, her so-called best friend, had once said:
“You should try not eating for a while. Might help your face too.”
She had laughed with the others. Minji laughed too. It was easier than crying. It always was.

“You’re disgusting, you know that?” she said to herself. “God must’ve sneezed when he made me.”

Sometimes, when she passed glass windows, she’d flinch at her reflection.

“Why do you even go outside? Stay in your cave, piggy.”

That one had come from her cousin. Family dinners were the worst. She always sat at the end, pretending to be busy on her phone, while uncles asked her mom if Minji was “sick or something.” As if she couldn’t hear.

“She’s just a little slow,” her mother once said. Minji wanted to vomit.

Slow?

No, she just didn’t want to smile at people who treated her like garbage. She just didn’t want to exist in a world that never asked if she was okay. Only told her what was wrong with her.

Her father?

Gone. Not dead. Just… gone. Left when she was nine. Maybe he saw what she’d become. Or maybe he just couldn’t fake being a father to “that thing” anymore.

“Who would want a daughter like you?” she whispered. “Not even your own mirror likes you.”

She turned the mirror face-up.

Big mistake.

Minji’s eyes locked onto the swollen pimples along her chin. Her lips were cracked. Nose oily. Hair greasy and clumped. A mosquito landed on the frame. Even that thing had better skin.

She slapped the mirror face-down again.

Some days, she didn’t even brush her teeth. What was the point? Nobody was getting close enough to smell her breath.

She hadn’t looked anyone in the eye for months.

She hadn’t been hugged in years.

She hadn’t smiled without effort since she was twelve.

She opened her laptop. Not to talk to anyone. Just to scroll. Click things. Pretend like she was busy with life.

She clicked through forums, but didn’t post. Read stories she didn’t care about. Typed messages she never sent. She kept one file on her desktop: Reasons to Disappear. It had five bullet points.

She added a sixth.

“Because this world is designed to make people like me feel like shit.”

She closed the file.

Sometimes she talked to herself for hours.

“Minji, what if you just stopped trying?”

“I already did.”

“No, like really. Just vanish.”

“From where? No one knows I exist.”

“What if they did?”

“They’d wish I didn’t.”

And then she’d laugh again.

No one cared. No one ever would.

And maybe… maybe that was the truth no one talks about.

Not everyone gets a glow-up.

Not every ugly duckling turns into a swan.

Some just die as ugly ducks.

She laid back on the floor, staring at the ceiling fan. It didn’t spin. Just hung there, as lifeless as her.

“God, if you’re real… you suck.”

The clock ticked. Her stomach growled. She didn’t get up. Not even for food anymore.

Something about the silence felt too loud.

The kind of loud that makes your skin crawl.

She pulled the blanket over her face.

Pretending the world couldn’t see her.

Pretending she didn’t exist.

Maybe tomorrow would be better.

But probably not.