Restored by grace

THE MASK OF PERFECTION

The sun beat down mercilessly as Nandi made her way across the sprawling campus to her class. Her back pack slung across one shoulder filled to the brim with books. The concrete path was crowded with students, some hurrying to class and others just sitting down in chill spots laughing and chatting like they didn’t have a care in the world. She envied them, their ease and ability to connect with one another. It was something she longed for but could never have.

She tugged on her sleeves making sure they covered her arms completely despite the heat. She had learned earlier on that it was easier to hide them than to explain. Her first lecture that day was in the anatomy lab. The room was cold and sterile and the air was heavy with the faint smell of formaldehyde in the air. Nandi slipped into her seat at the back, avoiding eye contact with her classmates.

“morning,”a voice says behind her.

She glanced up to see Brenda, one of the few people who occasionally made an effort to talk to her. Brenda was a true gem. Everything Nandi wasn’t. She was beautiful, confident, outgoing and effortlessly outgoing. Her hair and nails were always done and her outfits always looked crisp. A true fashionista.

“morning,”Nandi mumbled, forcing a small smile.

Brenda frowned slightly but didn’t push further. Nandi knew she came off cold and mean but it wasn’t intentional. It was just… easier this way.

The professor then walked in and the lecture began. Nandi tried to focus on the professors words but her mid kept drifting. She had barely slept the night before as her thoughts were consumed by the upcoming exams and the mountain of assignments she had yet to finish. Her notebook remained blank as the professor outlined the days objectives. Around her, other students scribbled furiously or typed on their laptops. She felt a pang of panic. Was she the only one who couldn’t keep up?

At the end of the lecture, the professor handed out a quiz. Nandi stared at the questions, her heart pounding. Her mind completely blank. The answers were buried somewhere in her notes, but her mind was too fogy to recall them. She scribbled down guesses, each one feeling like a failure. The problem is University is different from highschool,if you feel like you failed, you most probably did.

When the papers were collected, the professors gaze lingered on her for a moment “Nandi, could you stay behind for a moment?”

Her stomach dropped.

After the room cleared, Nandi approached the professor’s desk, her hands clenched tightly around the strap of her bag.

“Is everything okay?” the professor asked, his tone gentle.

She nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. Everything’s fine.”

He studied her for a moment before sighing. “You’re a bright student, Nandi. But lately, your performance has been... inconsistent. If something’s wrong, you can talk to me.”

Her throat tightened. How could she explain that she spent most nights fighting to keep herself together, that her mind was a battlefield she couldn’t escape?

“Thank you, sir,” she said instead, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do better.”

The professor nodded, but the concern in his eyes didn’t fade.

Nandi left the classroom feeling more exhausted than before. She knew the professor meant well, but his words only added to the pressure she already felt.

By the time she returned to her dorm, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the campus. She collapsed onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She ignored it at first, but when it buzzed again, she grabbed it and saw a text from her mother.

“Don’t embarrass me, Nandi. You have no excuse to fail.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. She didn’t bother replying. Instead, she tossed the phone aside and buried her face in her pillow, the weight of her mother’s expectations crushing her.

Later that night, Nandi sat at her desk, trying to study, but the words on the page blurred together. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts spiraling out of control.

You’re not good enough.

You’re a failure.

You’ll never be enough.

Her hand drifted to her arm, her nails digging into the skin through the fabric of her sweater. The pain was sharp but grounding, a momentary escape from the chaos in her mind.

She pulled up her sleeve, staring at the faint marks on her forearm from previous nights. They were small, almost unnoticeable, but to her, they were a reminder of her weakness.

“I’ll stop,” she whispered to herself. “Just one more time, and then I’ll stop.”

But deep down, she knew it was a lie.

As she sat in the silence of her room, her eyes drifted to the small Bible tucked away on her bookshelf. It had been a gift from her grandmother years ago, one she hadn’t opened in months.

She hesitated before reaching for it, her fingers brushing the worn leather cover. She flipped it open to a random page, her eyes landing on a verse she had memorized as a child:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” Psalm 34:18.

The words stirred something deep within her, a flicker of hope she hadn’t felt in a long time. She closed the Bible quickly, almost afraid of what it might awaken.

For the first time in weeks, she whispered a prayer into the darkness. It was barely more than a thought, but it was real.

“God, if You’re really there... please help me.”