A Pack of Light

THE SMILE EVERYONE LOVES

Episode 3: The Smile Everyone Loves

ISABELLE'S P.O.V.

The clack of shoes on the university’s marbled floor echoed like it always did, but this time, it didn’t feel the same. I stood just outside the gate, clutching the strap of my bag as if it could anchor me to something steady. A month ago, I’d been wheeled into a hospital room, stripped of my strength, my hair, and the life I knew. Today, I stood whole—but only on the outside.

I stepped inside.

The hallway was familiar, yet foreign. Students bustled in every direction, arms filled with books and folders, faces brimming with purpose. I walked slowly, carefully, as if I might disappear if I moved too fast.

"Isabelle?" a voice called from behind.

I turned to see my professor, Mr. San Juan, walking toward me with a warm smile. "You’re back. It’s good to see you. We missed you in class."

I smiled. Or at least, I tried to. "Thank you, sir. It’s good to be back."

But even I didn’t believe it.

My first class was Literature. I sat near the window, away from the center of attention. A few classmates waved at me with familiar faces, and I waved back with a small nod. Rina, one of the friendlier ones, whispered from two seats away, “You look great, Isa. Really.”

I gave her a thumbs-up.

The class started, and I did what I had trained myself to do since the diagnosis—pretend I was fine. I answered when called, smiled politely, nodded when expected. But my mind was elsewhere. My chest felt tight under the thick cotton shirt I wore. I avoided mirrors now. I didn’t want to see what was missing.

When the bell rang, I packed slowly. Most students were already out the door when a voice cut through the buzz.

“Hey,” Marco said, leaning against the doorway.

I blinked. “Hi.”

He smiled in that effortless way he always had. “You came back. That’s... really good to see.”

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

A pause. He held up his phone. “Wanna grab coffee later? I know this place that does those cute little latte hearts you like.”

It was kind. Too kind. And it made something sharp twist inside me.

I shook my head. “No thanks.”

His smile faltered, just slightly. “You okay?”

“Just tired,” I muttered, then turned before he could respond.

I walked briskly to the next class, ignoring the weight of his gaze on my back. My body wasn’t the only thing cancer had changed. It had taken the parts of me that used to reach for others. Now all I wanted was silence, and the safety of solitude.

After classes, I slipped back into my apartment and locked the door. The quiet welcomed me. I pulled off my shoes and dropped my bag near the couch. My body felt like it belonged to a stranger—foreign, unfamiliar, stitched together by something colder than healing.

I ran my fingers through my cropped hair, now growing out in uneven waves. It didn’t feel like mine. It felt like a scar.

I didn’t cry. Not that night.

But I stared at my reflection in the dark TV screen and whispered, “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

Three days later, Marco tried again.

“You’re not gonna hide from the world forever,” he said, standing outside my apartment door with a bag of croissants. “There’s a fair this weekend. Everyone’s gonna be there. Come with us. Just for a bit.”

I crossed my arms. “I don’t like crowds.”

“You used to,” he said.

“Well, I don’t anymore.”

He didn’t leave. “Rina said she’s not going if you’re not. I promised her I’d convince you.”

“Then tell her you failed,” I said flatly.

He didn’t push. Not that time.

But the day of the fair came, and I opened my door to find Rina and Marco standing there.

“We’re not taking no for an answer,” Rina grinned.

I gave them a look that said everything I wanted to scream. But in the end, I put on a clean shirt, tugged on a hoodie, and followed them out into the world.

The campus lawn had been transformed. Colorful booths lined the walkways, music played from speakers near the fountain, and a cotton candy machine puffed pastel sugar clouds into the air.

I walked behind Rina and Marco, hands in my hoodie pocket, head down. People waved at me, smiled, asked how I’d been. I smiled back. I lied well.

“You okay?” Marco asked gently.

“I’m fine,” I said.

We passed a karaoke booth, a free tarot reading station, and a couple of food trucks. I stopped when someone handed me a flier. It had my old club’s logo on it—Photography Society. I used to love taking pictures. Now, even holding a camera felt too heavy.

Friends gathered around us. Someone offered fries. Another threw their arms around me. “Isa! Oh my God, we missed you. You look amazing.”

Do I? I wanted to ask. Does amazing look like fear behind a smile? Like insecurity stitched into my skin?

They started teasing.

“Marco and Isa, finally together, huh?”

“Perfect pair!”

“She’s lucky he’s always around.”

Marco chuckled, scratching his head. “We’re just friends.”

I forced a laugh. “He’s annoying enough to be a brother.”

They laughed. I smiled. But deep inside, something stung.

If they knew what my body really looked like under this hoodie, would they still tease like that? If they saw the lines of surgery, the hollowness of my chest, the wig I refused to wear... would they still say I was lucky?

The event ended. I didn’t stay long. I left early, claiming a headache. No one protested too hard.

As I walked back home under the dim orange lights, I looked up at the sky.

I used to believe I belonged to the stars, to life, to brightness. Now I wasn't sure where I fit.

I didn’t want to be the girl people pitied. Or the girl they expected to bounce back, full of strength and second chances.

I just wanted to be seen.

Even if I wasn’t whole.

Even if I was still healing.