The morning air didn't taste like fear anymore. It was light, clean, almost sweet, the kind that slips quietly through windows and rests gently on the skin. Purity sat on her bed, legs crossed, a blanket loosely wrapped around her shoulders. The sun fell across her floor in streaks, softening the sharp corners of the room.
She hadn't slept much, but it didn't feel like a burden today. Her thoughts were not as loud. Her chest is not as heavy. Something had shifted not in one big moment, but gradually, like breath after breath had slowly pulled her closer to herself.
The sky that morning was calm, not loud or heavy, just quiet, like it understood that something was shifting.
Purity sat on her bed, legs crossed, eyes fixed on the open window. The breeze touched her skin, but it didn't carry weight this time. There was still pain, but it no longer choked her. It simply stayed close, like an old wound she had stopped hiding from.
Anna's knock on the door was soft.
"Are you awake?"
Purity nodded even before she answered. "Yeah. Come in."
Anna stepped in, holding a bundle of books tied with a ribbon. She set them down on the small desk, her eyes scanning Purity's face with quiet understanding.
"These helped me once," she said. "Maybe they'll help you too. You don't have to read them all. Just… let them sit with you."
Purity stood and walked over to the desk. She untied the ribbon slowly, as if opening a gift, not wanting to rush. She ran her fingers across the covers.
You don't have to rush. Just start with any one, she said, voice warm.
Purity looked at the covers, reading each title slowly. They didn't scream change but something in them called to her.
Purity looked down at the titles. Each name felt like a door cracking open.
What Happened to You? by Dr. Bruce Perry & Oprah Winfrey
The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk
Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés
She didn't open any of them right away. She just stared. And then, without thinking, she picked one and started reading.
The lines didn't just talk to her. They reached into her. Naming things she hadn't known how to name. Explaining emotions she once believed were hers alone.
Every chapter made her chest rise a little higher.
Later in the day, she took a pencil and underlined a sentence that felt too close.
"We all have a story. But few of us were ever given the tools to tell it."
That line stayed with her.
POV: Healing doesn't always come in grand moments. Sometimes, it slips in between pages and waits for you to find it.
She sat down slowly, reading it again. And again. And again.
The words didn't scare her. They felt like acknowledgement. Like someone had seen her, not just her silence, but everything buried under it.
Later that afternoon, Anna returned with two cups of warm fruit tea. She didn't ask questions, just sat beside Purity, both of them sipping in the kind of silence that doesn't need fixing.
I'm not afraid of it anymore, Purity said suddenly.
Of what?
The truth. My voice. What happened? I think I'm ready to stop hiding from myself.
Anna didn't rush a reply. She simply looked at her, the kind of look that doesn't judge, doesn't doubt. Just listens.Something important passed between them. It wasn't just friendship anymore. It was sisterhood.
That's strength, she said. Not loud strength. The kind that grows roots
That evening , Purity stood in front of the mirror again. No tears, No fear. Just her reflection whole. A little tired, but standing.
She unwrapped her scarf, took a brush, and began to paint. The strokes didn't look like pain this time. They looked like they were becoming.
She wasn't trying to make sense of the past anymore.
She was giving color to her future.
Her first stroke was shaky.
The second, steadier.
By the third, she wasn't thinking anymore. She was feeling. The blues and reds she mixed weren't random. They were in a good mood. Memories. Decisions.
The painting didn't look like pain.
It looked like becoming.
As the canvas started to fill, her breathing slowed, her shoulders relaxed. It wasn't just a painting. It was her reclaiming space not just in the room, but in herself.
When she stepped back to look at it, her chest swelled not with pride, but with peace. The kind that says, you're still here.
That night, she stood in front of her mirror and took her scarf off. She touched her hairline, brushed it back gently, and smiled.
No tears.
No fear.
Just her.
She picked up her journal and wrote a single sentence.
I am not what happened to me. But I am what I choose to become after.
She underlined it twice, then closed the book and held it to her chest.
The room felt bigger somehow. Not because it had changed but because she had.
The next day, she stepped into school not as someone returning, but as someone reclaiming.
Anna walked beside her as always, but there was a new energy between them. Purity didn't shrink when passing people in the hallway. She didn't look down. She didn't fake a smile.
She simply walked.
Whole. Quiet. Present.
In class, she raised her hand once. Not to answer just to ask. Her voice didn't tremble. Her question wasn't perfect. But it was hers.
After school, Anna leaned in and whispered, You're not hiding anymore.
I don't want to, Purity replied. Even if it's messy. I'd rather live out loud than bury myself in silence.
Anna smiled, and that smile stayed with her all the way home.
That night, Purity dreamt of paint and blank walls and soft light. And in that dream, she was painting faces. Not broken faces but brave ones.
She woke up at 2 a.m., breathing slowly.
Not afraid.
Not anxious.
Just aware.
Aware that something was changing, and this time, she wouldn't stop it.