School felt like a puzzle Mina could never quite solve. Every morning, she walked through the hallways lined with lockers, trying to appear calm while her mind raced with everything she needed to do: remember lessons, answer questions, help friends, and try not to get overlooked.
Today, the classroom was colder than usual. Mrs. Hartley, their teacher, was at her desk, typing rapidly on her computer, her glasses sliding down her nose. The students whispered to each other quietly, flipping open notebooks and waiting for the day to begin.
Mina raised her hand when the first question was asked. One, two, three… Mrs. Hartley ignored her. She called on another student, who answered hesitantly, and Mina's stomach sank.
It's fine, she told herself. Maybe next time.
The points system was something she had started noticing more and more. Every correct answer earned a point. Forty points before the holidays was the goal. Mina loved numbers, counting things, keeping track — it made her feel in control in a world that often wasn't.
By mid-morning, she decided to check her points. She walked up quietly, trying to seem casual. Her heart thudded as she read the small number on the board: 19.
"Mrs. Hartley," Mina asked softly, "can you tell me why my points are low?"
"You should participate more," Mrs. Hartley said without looking up.
Mina blinked. What? I am participating! Her fists curled tightly under the desk, but she stayed quiet. She had learned that holding back words was sometimes safer, even when unfairness stung like a cold wind.
During lunch, Mina's friends gathered around, sharing food and gossip. One friend had dropped her pencil case; another was crying softly over a small misunderstanding with a classmate. Mina tried to help, making jokes, helping pick things up, and passing tissues. She could see the tension easing in their shoulders.
Then a girl spoke sharply, almost laughing, "You don't understand. You'll never understand. You don't have a heart."
Mina's throat burned. You don't know my life, she thought furiously. She imagined telling them about her tiny apartment, the nights she cried alone, the days she had to act strong for everyone else. But she didn't. She turned and walked away quietly, holding the tears that wanted to spill.
On the way back from lunch, she saw a classmate trip on the stairs. Without thinking, Mina ran to help her up. "It's okay," she whispered, offering a hand. "I've got you."
Even if the world didn't notice her, even if her efforts went unseen, Mina knew she could still make a difference. That thought kept her going through the long afternoon lessons, through the ignored questions and the points that didn't seem fair.
By the time the final bell rang, Mina felt exhausted but quietly proud. She had survived another day — a day of being overlooked, misunderstood, and still being kind. And as she walked home beside Taro, she reminded herself once again:
Even if no one sees you, even if no one understands, you are strong. You are enough