She saw herself in the mirror. She saw a blemish on her cheek, a scar on her forehead, not too prominent; fading with time , she never saw the deep chocolate eyes she had ; Brimming with facts, with stories but most of all with so much warmth.

 She saw herself in the mirror a second time. She saw the dark skin, she saw the misshapen brows, and she saw a forehead that no hairstyle would suit. She wished for a scar that would let her get a surgery. She never saw the full red lips, the high cheekbones that were just beginning to develop.

 She saw a face this time, and she wished it wasn’t hers. Pretty had a definition and it wasn’t her. She had decided. She saw the eyes, cold and hard, the red full lips pressed into a line, her cheeks refused to gather the blush, rather they held stoic. She wasn’t beautiful, she had known this a long time, but she wasn’t worth even a glance, she had realized it today.

 There was no mirror the next time and there was no coldness in her eyes, the shards of the mirror lay in her hand, blood seeped through her high cheekbones, she had never thought of herself as ugly but now at least she was something, If not beautiful, then at least ugly. She would be looked upon now even if in disgust. She wasn’t invisible anymore.

**Authors Note: This is a guest post written by Raahat Verma from Ludhiana, India. Do make it a point to check out her lovely blog here! 

If you would like to make guest posts/ share stories or poems yourself then kindly drop an email at niyati.s492@gmail.com

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