Since childhood, you felt “different”. You looked at slender, light girls – how they laugh, run, wear short dresses and seem to live without worries. And you… you learned to suck in your stomach, choose dark clothes, hide your gaze. Envy, sadness and guilt intertwined into a tight ball that lived inside you and only grew over the years.

You were teased. Not only by classmates, but also – what hurts most – by your family. Sometimes, as if by accident, your mother would say: “It would be good to have dinner once a day, maybe you’ll lose weight by summer.” Your father would smirk: “You’re not a cow – you’re a whole herd.” These words are unforgettable. You would lock yourself in your room, bury your face in a pillow and cry until you were hoarse. No one knew how much pain you carried inside. You just wanted to be “like them”. You just wanted to not be ashamed of your reflection.

You grew up, adulthood was approaching, but the extra weight didn’t go away. You tried everything — gyms, diets, intermittent fasting, healthy eating, psychologists. Day after day, you tried. And still — it was as if your body stubbornly held you hostage. You hated the mirror, avoided photos. But despite the despair, you didn’t give up. You watched other girls transform, bloggers post their “before and afters,” and you told yourself: “I can do it too. I’m strong. I can handle it.”

You started training with stubbornness, bordering on obsession. Not for others. For yourself. For that girl who cried into her pillow, dreaming of disappearing. You wanted to prove that you could be strong. And you began to change — not only externally, but also internally. Your determination became armor.

One day, after a hard day, you came to the gym. Music was playing in your headphones, you tried not to look around. But you immediately noticed a group of slender girls at the mirror. They were laughing loudly, showing off to each other, and clearly wanted to be looked at. You pretended not to notice. You had your own goals. Your training is your path.

But soon you realized that their laughter and whispers were directed specifically at you. They were looking, whispering, openly laughing. Someone said loudly: "How is she even allowed into the hall? This is not a farm!" Laughter rolled through the hall. You froze, as if a knife had passed through your chest. You wanted to disappear, to fall through the ground. But you stayed. You forced yourself to breathe evenly. You will not let them break you again.

You continued to do the exercise as if nothing had happened, but everything inside was clenching. And suddenly, like a loud click, a voice came from the other side of the room:

- Shut up. Right now.

The voice was deep, confident, with a hint of anger. Everyone froze. The girls turned around abruptly. A guy was approaching them - tall, with a broad chest, strong arms, in a T-shirt that emphasized every muscle. His name was Dimer. He wasn’t just athletic - he radiated strength and determination.

They fell silent. Apparently, they decided that it was better not to mess with him. He walked right up to you. You looked up and met his eyes - warm, attentive.

- You are stronger than all of them together,” he said. “And I will prove it right now.

Before you could say anything, he gently but easily picked you up and placed you on his shoulder. The world seemed to stop. People around you turned around, someone froze near the machine, someone dropped a bottle. You didn’t know how to react — whether to get scared, or laugh, or cry.

But he stood firm. His hand held you confidently, securely. You felt his strength and for the first time in a long time — you were safe.

He turned to the audience and said loudly:

- See this? This is a person who fights every day. Who hasn’t given up. And you wouldn’t have been able to withstand even half of what she had to go through.

He put you back on the floor and smiled:

- I can train with you. Not so that you would prove anything to anyone. But so that one day you would look in the mirror and say: “I’m proud of myself.