The Beautiful Scar

The Girl In The Mirror💔

The last sound in the house was the quiet click of Lisha’s door closing behind her.

She stood in the silence, letting it settle around her like a second skin. The sitting room outside her room was still lit by early morning light, filtering softly through the dusty windows. She could hear her father pacing the sitting room, his voice low and tired as he spoke on the phone. He was always tired now. Ever since Abigail—her mother—died, nothing had been the same.

Lisha leaned against the door and sighed.

In the quiet, memories pressed in like a wave. The scent of her mother's lotion. The way her mother laughed when she cooked. The soft sound of gospel music playing every Saturday morning. All gone now like a beautiful dream that someone had erased too soon.

She blinked quickly, refusing to cry. Again.

Instead, she picked up her brush and walked slowly toward the mirror on her vanity. She stared at her reflection—at the girl with soft, straight hair and light skin who barely looked like the Lisha she used to know. There was still a trace of that old girl in her face, in her eyes, but it was fading. She had grown thinner, quieter… more distant.

"I'm sixteen now," she said to her reflection, her voice small. "One more year and I'll be done with this school... maybe even this house."

She didn't mean to sound bitter. She wasn’t even sure she felt that way. But every corner of her life had shifted. Her mother had been the glue that held her together. Without her, Lisha felt like a cracked cup pretending to still hold water.

She brushed her hair slowly, thinking of the day ahead school, whispers, fake smiles. She hated how people looked at her now: with pity, with confusion, with fake interest. They’d say “sorry” as if the word could bring her mother back.

There was soft hesitant knock on her door.

It was her little sister, Nessie. Ten years old, tiny, and always too gentle for this world.

“Lisha,” Nessie called. “I can’t find my socks again…”

Lisha smiled faintly. She put the brush down and walked over to the door.

Nessie stood in the sitting room, holding one white sock and her school shoes. Her brown eyes were wide with that innocent panic only children could feel about small things.

“You wore them yesterday. Did you check behind the bed?” Lisha asked softly.

Nessie shook her head.

Lisha sighed gently and followed her into the room. Within seconds, she’d found the missing sock, stuffed into the blanket at the edge of the bed. She handed it over.

“Thanks,” Nessie mumbled, already sitting to wear it.

Lisha sat beside her. “You know, you're in grade Five now,” she said teasingly. “Big girls find their socks themselves.”

Nessie looked up at her and smiled. “But I like it better when you help me.”

Lisha didn’t say anything. She just nodded and helped tie the laces of her sister’s shoes. It felt good to be needed even for something as small as this. It made her feel a little less invisible.

Their father called from the sitting room, “Girls, hurry up or we’ll be late!”

“We’re coming!” Lisha shouted back, standing and helping Nessie up.

As they made their way downstairs, Lisha caught a glimpse of her father's face. He looked the same tired, older than before, with his tie hanging loose around his neck and his eyes already carrying the weight of the day.

He gave them both a short nod. “Let’s go.”

The ride to school was quiet, as always. Her father didn't play music anymore. He didn’t talk unless he had to. The silence sat heavy between them, but Lisha had grown used to it.

As they neared the school gate, she turned to Nessie. “Don’t forget your lunch. And try to finish your Maths this time, okay?”

“I will,” Nessie said, hugging her tightly. “Love you.”

Lisha hugged her back. “Love you too.”

She watched Nessie walk into the primary section, her ponytail bouncing behind her. So carefree. So full of life. It amazed her that they were raised in the same house, carried the same grief.

She took a deep breath and walked toward the senior block.

The first bell had already rung when Lisha entered the school compound. As she walked toward her class, she could already feel the stares.

“Look,” someone whispered. “That’s the girl whose mom died.”

“Lisha Gabriel,” someone muttered, not even quietly. “She used to be so lively…”

She kept walking. Eyes straight. Shoulders up. She’d mastered the art of pretending not to hear.

Inside her class, she took her seat in the third row—her usual spot by the window. From there, she could look out at the sky, the trees, the field. Anywhere but at people.

Soon, the class filled. Laughter, chatter, the sound of shoes dragging. Then—

“Hi,” a gentle voice said beside her.

Lisha looked up.

It was Luke her best friend and also her neighbor, He was tall, with curly black hair and eyes that always seemed to understand too much. He rarely talked to anyone, but whenever he talks to her, she felt… seen.

“I saved you this seat,” he said, motioning to the empty chair beside him.

Lisha blinked. “Thanks.”

He smiled faintly. “Rough morning?”

She hesitated. “Always.”

He didn’t push. Just nodded, then turned back to his book. That was what she liked about Luke. He didn’t ask questions. He just stayed.

As the teacher entered and the lesson began, Lisha stared at her notebook but didn’t write a thing. Her thoughts were drifting—through memories, grief, and the strange comfort she’d just found in someone’s quiet presence.

Maybe life was still a mess.

Maybe the scar in her heart still bled quietly.

But for the first time in a long while, sitting beside someone who didn't see her as broken, Lisha felt the tiniest flicker of something she’d thought was lost:

Hope.