The bell rang just after sunrise—long and heavy. It wasn’t the usual morning call. This one meant something different. Today was choosing day.

Shelia sat up in her narrow bed, the cold from the stone floor creeping into her bare feet the moment they touched it. Her hands trembled slightly as she folded her blanket with perfect corners, as she always had. As she was taught. Her nightgown still smelled faintly of lavender soap—one of the few soft comforts the nuns allowed them before big events.

She didn’t speak. None of the girls did.

In the shared bathroom, Shelia stood before the cracked mirror and ran a brush slowly through her thick, dark hair. One hundred strokes. She counted them in her head like a prayer. Her brown eyes searched the reflection for something—beauty, maybe. Hope. But all she saw was a girl trying not to look too eager.

They had given her a pale pink dress. Soft, long-sleeved, with a white collar and a bow tied neatly at her throat. It felt… fragile. She hesitated before slipping it over her head, as if afraid her fingers might stain it somehow.

The silence in the hallway outside was almost holy.

When the bell rang again, sharper this time, Shelia stepped into line with the others. Girls stood shoulder to shoulder in their matching shoes and trembling hands. Some glanced around nervously. Others kept their eyes fixed on the floor, hiding their desperation behind docile masks.

Shelia stood very still.

Her hands were folded gently in front of her, just the way the sisters had taught. Her heart beat faster with each breath, but her face remained soft, almost blank—like porcelain on display. She didn't dare let herself dream, not yet. Not until the doors opened. Not until the footsteps echoed in.

She just wanted to be chosen.

Not for beauty. Not for obedience.

But because maybe—just maybe—someone would finally see her.