She went.
Not because she wanted to.
But because she needed to see.
She needed to see the true meaning behind the message Serena sent.
The café was exactly the kind of place Serena loved.
Tucked in the heart of the city's arts district, all marble floors and soft jazz, floor-to-ceiling windows that turned every patron into a performance.
Designer clothes.
Perfect hair.
Laughter that sounded rehearsed.
And when Evelyn walked in, the air shifted.
Not dramatically.
Not with gasps.
But with glances.
Sideways.
Quick.
Curious.
She wasn't dressed poorly.
Her coat was tailored.
Her boots, Italian leather.
But her face?
It was real.
No contouring.
No subtle lifts.
Just her — before the surgery.
And in a room full of polished perfection, that was enough to make her stand out.
Not for her style.
But for her lack of it — by their standards.
She scanned the room.
And there, in the center table near the window, sat Serena.
Radiant.
Surrounded.
Already holding court.
She wore a cream silk dress, her hair cascading in soft waves, a delicate gold bracelet catching the light.
A group of students — mostly girls — leaned in, laughing at something she said.
When she saw Evelyn, she waved — bright, cheerful — like they were the closest of friends.
"Ev! Over here!"
Evelyn walked forward.
And with every step, she felt it.
The eyes.
The silent comparisons.
"Is that Serena's friend?"
"Wait, is that the girl from the Morgan family?"
"She's rich, right? But… her face."
"I guess money can't fix everything."
They didn't say it out loud.
But she heard it anyway.
And then it hit her.
This wasn't an accident.
Serena hadn't chosen this café because it had good coffee.
She'd chosen it because it was seen.
Because it was populated.
Because every person in that room knew who Serena was — the effortlessly beautiful, the socially flawless, the woman who'd just landed a staff position at Parsons.
And now?
Now she was sitting across from her — Evelyn — the girl with the strong nose, the plain features, the one who hadn't yet "fixed" herself.
And the message was clear:
Look at us.
See the difference.
See who deserves to be loved.
Evelyn sat down.
Serena leaned in, smiling. "You made it! I was starting to think you'd changed your mind."
"I said I'd come," Evelyn said, calm.
"I know, I know," Serena said, waving a hand. "I just didn't know if you'd want to. I mean, this place is kind of… intense for a first day."
She laughed.
Evelyn didn't.
She looked around.
At the women glancing at them.
At the way Serena tilted her face toward the light.
At the way she touched her hair — not because it was messy, but because she knew it caught the eye.
And Evelyn understood.
This wasn't about coffee.
This was a display.
A silent announcement:
"Look at her. Look at me. Who would you choose?"
In the future, Serena would use this same tactic again and again — always positioning herself as the more desirable, the more natural, the more real.
And Evelyn?
She would shrink.
She would apologize for her presence.
She would wonder, again and again, Why does he look at her like that? Why does he touch her hair like it's sacred?
But now?
Now she saw.
And the girl who once believed she wasn't enough?
She sat taller.
Parsons wasn't just a school.
It was a dream carved into glass and steel.
Nestled in the heart of the city, its main building rose like a sculpture — sleek silver panels catching the morning light, floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the sky, the kind of architecture that made you pause just to look.
Students walked in clusters, dressed like walking art — oversized coats, bold colors, designs that defied symmetry. Some wore their sketches pinned to their jackets. Others carried mannequin heads like fashion trophies.
Inside, the air hummed with creation.
Sewing machines buzzed in the design labs.
Paint splattered the walls of the art studios.
Music poured from open doors — jazz, hip-hop, classical — each floor its own world.
This was where legends began.
Where the girl who once made clothes for her dolls became a runway star.
Where the quiet boy from Ohio designed a dress that closed Paris Fashion Week.
Where talent wasn't polished — it was unleashed.
Every girl who dreamed of fashion whispered this name like a prayer:
Parsons.
And Evelyn had gotten in.
Not through connections.
Not because of her name.
But because her portfolio — raw, bold, unapologetic — had made the judges pause.
But Evelyn knew better now.
She remembered.
How Serena had never been truly happy for her.
How every "Congratulations!" came with a sideways glance.
How every "You're so talented!" was followed by her showing up in a better outfit the next day.
In the future, Serena would say she got in a month later — "Just in time to start with you!" — as if it were fate.
But Evelyn knew the truth.
She'd used her father's connections.
She wasn't a designer.
She was a socialite who wanted the title.
And now?
Now she was here — early — already making friends, already positioning herself as one of them.
Her voice was sweet.
Her smile, perfect.
But Evelyn saw it now — the flicker in her eyes.
Not joy.
Jealousy.
Because Serena had spent years being the most beautiful, the most liked, the most seen.
And Evelyn?
She was the quiet one.
The one with the "interesting face."
The one people tolerated for her money.
But now?
Now Evelyn had something Serena couldn't buy.
Legitimacy.
She had earned her place.
And Serena hated it.
But she smiled anyway.
Because that's what she did.
She smiled while she cut.
She hugged while she planned.
She said, "I'm so proud of you," like she meant it.
And in the past, Evelyn had believed her.
She had hugged her back.
Laughed.
Posted a photo: "Starting Parsons with my soul sister! 💕"
She had been so foolish.
To think kindness was real just because it wore a pretty face.
To trust a woman who flinched when someone complimented her designs.
To believe that love didn't have claws.
But Evelyn played along.
She laughed at her jokes.
Agreed to meet for coffee.
Even complimented her dress.
Because she wasn't here to fight.
She was here to rebuild.
And sometimes, the quietest girls see the deepest truths.
—
The waitress came.
Evelyn ordered black coffee.
Serena ordered a lavender latte with oat milk — "Just for the aesthetic," she said, giggling.
And then, silence.
Not awkward.
Just… waiting.
Serena stirred her drink, watching Evelyn over the rim of her cup.
"So," she said, voice light. "Are you excited for orientation?"
Serena had known of Evelyn's admission to parson.
She was always "looking" out for Evelyn
Perhaps that was why she asked out for some coffee.
"I am," Evelyn said. "It feels like I'm finally where I'm supposed to be."
Serena's smile tightened — just slightly.
"That's so sweet," she said. "I mean, not everyone gets in on talent alone. You're really lucky."
The word hung in the air.
Lucky.
Not talented.
Not deserving.
Lucky.
Like she'd won a prize she didn't earn.
Evelyn met her eyes.
And for the first time, she didn't look away.
She saw the fear beneath the confidence.
The insecurity beneath the beauty.
The desperation to be chosen — not for who she was, but for how she looked.
And she thought:
You don't hate me because I'm ugly.
You hate me because I remember who you are.
—
They made small talk.
About classes.
About professors.
About the new exhibit at the design gallery.
And all the while, the room watched.
Couples glanced at them.
Girls whispered.
A man at the next table stared a second too long at Serena, then looked away from Evelyn like she wasn't there.
And Evelyn?
She didn't flinch.
She drank her coffee.
She kept her back straight.
She let the silence speak.
Because she wasn't here to win approval.
She wasn't here to be liked.
She was here to remember.
To see the game for what it was.
And to know — deep in her bones — that she would no longer play by their rules.
—
When they finally stood to leave, Serena hugged her again.
"We should do this every week," she said. "Best friends have to stick together, right?"
Evelyn smiled.
Not because she believed her.
But because she saw her.
And as she walked out, the sun on her face, the city humming around her, she whispered — so softly, only the wind could hear:
"I'm not your mirror anymore."
—
The café faded behind her.
But the truth didn't.
She had been judged.
Measured.
Found lacking.
And still?
She walked away — not broken.
Not ashamed.
But clear.
Because she finally understood:
Beauty wasn't in the face.
It was in the choice.
To stay.
To rise.
To see — and still be kind.
And for the first time…
she believed she was more than pretty.
She was free.