Chapter 1: The Girl Who Hid in Plain Sight

Sue was an expert in being unnoticed. She had perfected the art of blending into the background, of making herself small and invisible in a room full of people. That skill came in handy most days—especially at the office. Today was no exception.

In the fluorescent-lit bathroom, Sue stared at her reflection, her face framed by dull brown hair that seemed to mock her. Freckles. Hundreds of them, splashed across her pale cheeks and nose like imperfections she could never erase. It wasn’t that she hated freckles on other people. It was just hers. They didn’t look cute or charming like the girls in the magazines—on her, they looked like a mess, a constant reminder of how imperfect she was. She sighed and ran her fingers over her upturned nose, the one thing she despised more than the freckles. The damn nose.

The cruel nicknames echoed in her head as though she was hearing them fresh: Pinocchio, button-nose, turnip face. It had been a while since someone had said it to her directly, but the whispers still followed her, living rent-free in her head. Every time she caught someone glancing at her, she could feel the judgment.

"Maybe they’re right," she mumbled, her voice barely more than a breath, the words as bitter as the taste they left in her mouth. Her reflection stared back, unflinching. She wasn’t just invisible at work—she was invisible to herself.

Her phone buzzed on the bathroom counter, pulling her back to reality. It was a reflex at this point, the pull to check it impossible to resist. Reddit. The one place where she could feel...something. Something better. She tapped the app, already knowing the routine by heart. It was pathetic, she knew that, but she couldn’t stop. Not now.

Her fingers flew across the screen as she typed the words she had written so many times she could do it without thinking:

"24F, am I ugly?"

Her thumb hovered over the post button. She stared at it, her heart pounding in her chest. What am I doing? It was ridiculous—this endless cycle of validation-seeking from strangers who didn’t know her, wouldn’t care about her, but somehow, they had become the only voices she trusted.

She could already predict the responses: "You’re not ugly, just unique!" or, more likely, "You could be pretty if you just put in a little effort." The rare comments would be crueler, blunter, feeding the part of her that secretly believed them.

She pressed post anyway.

Immediately, she felt a knot of regret tighten in her stomach. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Her phone buzzed again in her hand, but she didn’t dare look at the responses. She stuffed it back into her pocket and turned away from the mirror, as if moving away from the screen could erase what she had just done.

The mirror still held her gaze, her tired eyes staring back at her. "Stop it, Sue," she whispered, tearing herself away from her reflection. The meeting was in less than ten minutes, and she needed to be there. But she knew how it would go. She would sit, listen, and her ideas—if she dared speak them—would disappear, swallowed by the louder, more confident voices in the room.

With a sigh, Sue pocketed her phone and stepped out of the bathroom, blending into the crowd of bustling coworkers. The hallway was alive with energy: people laughing, chatting, making plans for their weekends. She heard snippets of conversation, the occasional chuckle, the clink of coffee mugs. All these people, living their lives, while she moved like a ghost among them.

Not that she wanted to be noticed. Right?

Sue’s desk greeted her with its familiar mess. Papers stacked in haphazard piles, her half-drunk cup of coffee long since gone cold. A life she could clean up, if she could ever find the energy to care. Her desk was just like her—practical, unremarkable, cluttered with half-finished projects, never given a second glance by anyone. Just a stepping stone, she reminded herself. One year here, and I can move on. Get a real job, a real life.

Her phone buzzed again. She pulled it out to see the email reminder: Meeting at 10:00 AM. Don’t be late. As if it mattered. Another room where she’d be present, but invisible. Another room where no one would hear her, no matter what she had to say. She didn’t even bother to read the rest of the email before sliding her phone back into her pocket.

Taking a deep breath, Sue rose from her desk and headed toward the meeting room, her mind replaying the usual script. She would sit quietly, try to speak if the opportunity came, and leave as unnoticed as when she arrived.