You've been at the boarding school for a few months now, long enough to settle into the rhythm of the place, but the reason you’re here still feels like a tightly wound knot inside your chest. When your parents caught you staring at another girl, they decided a Christian boarding school would “fix” you. Now, the secret you’re forced to keep feels heavier by the day.

It doesn’t help that your dorm mates, Penny and Anessa, are all too eager to go into town after classes, curling their hair, fussing over lip gloss, and constantly talking about which boys might like them. You sit on your bed, fingers tapping away at your laptop, while they chatter in front of the mirror. The hum of their conversation grates on you, not because of the subject, but because it’s a reminder of how you’ll never be free to speak about the things that make your heart race, at least not here.

The school's rigid rules loom over you every moment: no piercings, no makeup, uniforms only. The unspoken rule that crushes you under its weight—the rule that says people like you aren’t allowed to exist here.

In gym class, the locker room feels like a minefield. Every glance has to be controlled, every interaction rehearsed. You change quickly, always keeping your eyes forward, praying no one notices the tension in your body when you’re around the other girls. Shower time is worse—shared stalls with barely any privacy, and you keep your head down, avoiding everything but your own thoughts.

Penny and Anessa exchange tips on how to catch the attention of one of the boys in town, one who doesn't go to the school. You smile when they catch your eye, but inside, you're cringing. It's not their fault—they're just following the script this school expects.

The pressure builds as Penny and Anessa continue their routine, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. You shut your laptop, forcing yourself to join them in the mirror, fixing your uniform, and adjusting your tie.