Rumors are like smoke. They rise without warning and spread before you even realize there's a fire. That's how it began.
It started quietly, with whispers in corners and giggles behind my back. I knew something had shifted the moment I walked into school that Wednesday morning. People looked at me differently. Not with the usual disinterest or indifference, but with that curious, suspicious look, the kind that makes your skin crawl.
I didn't want to believe it had to do with Jordan. But deep down, I knew. That day, he called me on phone to come over to his department.
I was nervous. Very nervous. I wasn't sure what people would say if they saw me walking into his department. Jordan was popular, and I was, well, not. I wasn't the kind of girl people noticed unless it was to point out my flaws.
But I liked him. At least, I thought I did. So I decided to be brave. I dressed well that morning. I took extra time to fix my hair. Even though I didn't have much makeup, I used a little powder and gloss. I told myself, "You can do this. Just walk in and say hello. He wants to see you. That's all that matters."
But as I walked across campus, I felt the weight of eyes on me. Some girls laughed when I passed. Some whispered. A group of guys pointed and smiled to themselves. I tried to ignore it. But then, it happened.
As I turned the corner leading to his department, I ran into Kroos and Jareh, Jordan's friends. I froze for a moment. I wasn't ready to face them. The last time I saw Kroos, he had mocked my nose without even saying it directly. I was scared he'd do worse now.
"Hey!" Bolly called out. I turned slowly, trying to force a smile. "Nice ass there!" he shouted.
Jareh joined in, "Nice shape in a wrong face!" My heart sank. I stood there, frozen. My face burned with shame. Students nearby heard and laughed. Some turned and looked at me, then looked away quickly.
That was it. I turned back as if I had forgotten something. I couldn't do it. I couldn't go to Jordan. I couldn't let them humiliate me again.
Jordan called. I picked up. "Hey, are you close?"
I stammered. "No, not really. I... I think we should slow down. Maybe we shouldn't be this close. It's not good for me."
Before he could ask why, I ended the call. I didn't go back to class that day. I walked slowly to my hostel. I cried the whole way.
That night, Jordan called again. I didn't pick. He texted me. I ignored it.
The next day, more rumors started flying around. I heard girls talking in the hostel.
"Have you heard about that girl Jordan is chasing?"
"She should be lucky, at least someone like Jordan is even looking at her."
"He's just playing with her. Jordan doesn't settle. He just wants the fun, you know."
Another girl said, "I heard his friends are already laughing at the whole thing."
I tried to stay calm. But the worst was still coming.
One day, on my way back from class, I passed a group of guys standing under a tree near the school gate. I heard one of them say loudly, "Jordan just wants that ass. Nothing more."
They all laughed. That was the moment it all made sense.
It wasn't about me. It was never about me. I was just another story to them. Another joke. Another target.
I didn't pick Jordan's calls again after that. I deleted his number. I blocked him on every platform. I didn't want to explain anything. I didn't want to ask him questions. If he truly cared, he would have stopped his friends. He would have made it clear I wasn't a joke.
But he didn't. Or maybe he couldn't.
The next few days were hard. I felt like I was walking with a mark on my forehead. People stared. People whispered. Some pitied me. Some mocked me.
Dora and Flenra tried to cheer me up. They stayed close. They told me I did the right thing by cutting him off. They reminded me that my worth wasn't in what boys said or thought.
But their words only helped a little. Deep inside, I was broken. I thought I had found something real. Someone who liked me for me. Someone who saw beauty in my flaws.
I was wrong. It was just another lie. Another illusion. Another heartbreak.
I spent most evenings alone in my room. I stopped eating properly. I stopped smiling. The only place I found peace was in my grandmother's old books. The ones that spoke of witches and powers. The ones that reminded me of who I really was.
I remembered her voice, soft but firm: "Be patient. One day, you will use your powers. But be a good witch. Never use them for pain."
That voice gave me strength.
So, I made a decision. I would rise above this. I wouldn't let Jordan or his friends define me. I wouldn't let their words bury me.
I was more than just a girl with a strange face. I had power. I had purpose.
One day, they would see. One day, they would regret.
But for now, I would heal. Alone. Quietly. But completely.
The next day, I decided to visit home. It had been a while since I last saw my parents, Matip and Irene. As always, our small living room smelled like herbs. My mother Irene hugged me tight, the way only a mother can. Dad asked all the usual questions, how's school? Are you eating well? Do you need money?
We sat down and talked about everything: classes, assignments, hostel life, and how the world outside seemed faster than home. They listened carefully, nodding as I spoke, happy I was trying my best.
Then Selina walked in.
Selina, my younger sister, glowed like sunlight dancing on clean water. Her beauty was the kind that turned heads without even trying. She had smooth caramel skin, bright eyes that sparkled when she smiled, and thick curly hair that framed her face like a painting. At just sixteen and still in high school, she had a natural grace I never had, not in high school, not even now.
I watched her greet me cheerfully, her voice soft and confident. She told me how well she was doing in school and that some modeling scouts had noticed her during a school performance. Dad and Mum beamed with pride. I smiled too, but quietly. There was always this invisible line between us, drawn not by jealousy, but by wonder.
I often found myself asking: Why wasn't I like her?
Why wasn't I the one with beauty that made strangers stare in awe? Why didn't I have the voice, the posture, or the glow that Selina had naturally carried since childhood? It wasn't bitterness, not exactly. Just questions that echoed every time I stood beside her.
Then, another question came. One that had stayed with me for years: Why did Grandma Menila choose me?
Why was I the one who inherited the witch's legacy, the powers, the secrets, the burden? Selina seemed perfect in every way. Wouldn't someone like her be the better choice, beautiful, loved, admired?
But then another thought crept in… maybe Grandma saw something in me.
Maybe it was my pain. My flaws. My awkwardness. My loneliness. Maybe she knew I would need the powers more, not for glory, but for survival. Maybe she looked at me and saw someone who would fight, who would break, but still carry the legacy forward.
Maybe she saw that I was the one who needed strength not to shine, but to stand.
I brushed off the thought quickly. I didn't want to dwell on the reasons. I only knew this, Selina was beautiful, and I was not. She was admired, and I was forgotten. But I had something no one else had: a strange, ancient power sleeping within me, waiting for the day I would use it, not out of pride, but out of need.
After dinner, as we sat on the front porch watching the moonlight touch the leaves, Selina leaned on my shoulder and said, "You're the strongest person I know."
I turned to her. "Why would you say that?"
"Because you're always trying. You always come home with stories about how hard things are, but you're still going. And I admire that."
Her words sat in my heart like warm tea on a cold day. I didn't cry. I just smiled.
Maybe Grandma did choose right after all.