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Living in Her Shadow
People didn't see me — not really.
Not when Christabel was in the room.
She had that kind of presence. The kind you don't forget. Fair skin that held sunlight like a secret, hazel eyes that looked like they were always halfway through a story, and curls that fell so effortlessly perfect it made you question whether God had favorites.
I used to think maybe He did.
And maybe I was just the side character He wrote in for emotional balance.
At school, they knew me as her friend — not by name, not by smile, not even by voice. If they spoke to me at all, it was with half attention and wandering eyes, already searching the hallway behind me for her.
It started early.
In primary school, the teacher would pair us for projects and beam at Christabel's colorful charts, while my pages — neat, thoughtful, full of effort — were barely skimmed. "You two make such a great team," they'd say.
Translation: "You're lucky to be next to her."
I heard that a lot growing up.
"You're lucky to be her friend."
Was I?
She never meant harm. Christabel had a heart too big for her own good. She shared her snacks, her umbrella, her spotlight — what little space there was. And when she looked at me, she really looked. Like I mattered.
But when the world only ever reflects someone else back at you, it starts to mess with your head. You wonder who you are without their glow. You wonder if you're anyone at all.
By the time we were seventeen, I had learned to shrink myself into shadows. I stood beside her in pictures, angled just out of focus. I laughed when she made jokes. I nodded when people ignored me. I got so good at being invisible, it felt like a skill.
Until the party.
That night, she wore a red dress that made the room hold its breath. I wore a blue one no one noticed. I watched from across the kitchen as people gathered around her like moths — faces I had known for years but who had never once looked at me like I was interesting.
And something inside me cracked.
I didn't cry. I didn't shout. I just quietly left. Stepped out into the night air, my heels sinking into damp grass, the cold wrapping around me like truth.
It hit me then — maybe it wasn't her fault I was invisible.
Maybe I had spent so long standing in her light, I never gave myself a chance to shine.
So I stopped.
The next week, I walked into class five minutes late on purpose. Sat by the window. Answered a question without raising my hand. I signed up for the solo in drama club. I said yes to a conversation that didn't start with her name.
And one day — out of nowhere — someone said mine.
My name. Like it had weight. Like it meant something.
And just like that, I wasn't Christabel's friend anymore.
I was me.
Still in the same school. Still in the same town.
But finally, finally out of the shadow.
...
(. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)
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