Raised By Scar (18+)

The sun wasn't soft, but it didn't burn.

The sky wasn't clear, but it didn't threaten rain.

It was one of those days that hung somewhere between not perfect, but enough.

Anna had dragged me out with barely a warning.

You need fresh air, not fresh trauma, she said, already holding my wrist before I could protest.

We took a bus to the city's edge where the buildings stopped trying to impress and the streets opened wide like they'd been waiting for us.

There was a weekend art fair, small but colorful. Stalls lined up like crooked teeth, painted canvases leaning against rusted stands, handmade bracelets hanging from strings, poetry printed on yellowed papers fluttering in the breeze.

I didn't say much. Anna didn't expect me to.

She pointed at weird sculptures and made faces.

She tried on beaded anklets and made me vote.

She made me laugh.

Not the fake one I've learned to perfect.

A real one. Small. Unplanned. But mine.

We sat on a concrete ledge eating puff-puff from a brown paper bag. The sugar stuck to our fingers. Anna licked hers dramatically and grinned.

You're breathing softer today, she said.

I nodded. I feel… a little lighter.

She didn't reply with words. Just leaned into me, her shoulder brushing mine like a silent I'm proud of you.

We passed a painting that made me stop.

It was of a girl standing on a cracked bridge, her face tilted to the sky, arms stretched like she was daring the wind to carry her.

Her dress was torn. Her hair wild.

But she looked free.

POV: Healing isn't loud. Sometimes, it's standing still without shaking.

I bought that painting with the little money I had in my pocket. It wasn't about the art. It was about the mirror it held up.

As we walked back to the bus stop, Anna looped her scarf around my neck. The breeze had picked up.

Don't shrink back again, she said. You're starting to shine.

I touched the scarf, then her hand.

I won't, I whispered.

And for once, I believed it.

Later that evening, just as I was about to head for the shower, Anna texted.

Don't freak out but you're coming with me on a date.

Before I could type what?!, she sent another:

It's a double date. No pressure. You don't even have to like him. Just be present."

I groaned. Out loud. In the quiet of my room.

She followed it up with:

Say yes, Purity. This isn't about love. It's about letting the world meet you again.

I stood there for a few minutes staring at her texts.

Then, I changed into something decent not fancy, just open.

Jeans. A tucked in top. My edges brushed. A lip balm I never used.

When Anna saw me outside the restaurant, she beamed.

You look like a girl who's giving life a second chance.

I look like a girl who was blackmailed into a date, I muttered.

She laughed, pulling me into a hug.

The small restaurant Anna picked was tucked between a fabric shop and a dusty bookstore. Lanterns hung from the ceiling like forgotten wishes, and the scent of grilled peppers filled the air.

Anna's guy, Ethan , was already there dark eyes, soft smirk, trying hard not to look too eager. The boy he brought for me was quieter, dressed in blue and sitting like he didn't belong anywhere else.

His name was Zane. He was nice. A bit too careful. But maybe I liked that.

He didn't try to touch me. Didn't let his eyes wander where they shouldn't. He asked me questions that didn't scratch my skin.

So, you paint he asked.

I nodded.

Yeah. It's… my thing.

"That's cool. What do you like painting?

I shrugged.

Mostly pain and nature. But I'm trying to paint joy now too."

He paused for a second, as if that meant something to him.

That's brave," he said.

POV: When someone listens without trying to fix you, it feels like kindness you forgot existed.

Anna was giggling on the other side of the table, stealing fries off Ethan plate and blushing when he touched her pinky. For the first time in weeks, I felt something close to peace. Not complete, not perfect but something that didn't ache.

Later, Caleb offered to walk me home. I said yes.

We didn't talk much during the walk. The streetlights flickered above us like tired guardians, and the night air brushed against my arms like an apology.

I had a good time, he said when we reached the gate.

Me too," I whispered.

Can I see you again?

I paused. Then nodded slowly.

Maybe. I'm still… figuring stuff out.

He didn't ask what. He just smiled.

I'll wait.

Then he left.

And I stood there, feeling something strange.

Not guilt.

Not shame.

Just a beginning.

Back inside, I sat in bed, pulled my blanket to my chin, and let the silence stretch. But it didn't choke me this time.

It just… stayed Soft Present Like it understood.

POV: Healing doesn't always scream. Sometimes it tiptoes in, sits quietly beside you, and waits.

Her guy Andre was warm and playful. The boy she paired me with Zane was quiet, observant, the kind who watches everything before speaking.

We barely talked. But I noticed the way he didn't push. The way he pulled out a chair for me like it was instinct. The way he let his laughter land softly between us without forcing anything.

It didn't feel like a date.

It felt like someone seeing me and not expecting me to perform.

POV: Sometimes healing begins not in love but in being allowed to exist without demand.

When we said goodbye, he didn't ask for my number.

He just said, It was nice sitting beside you, Purity.

And somehow, that was enough.

Anna really made my day and made me forget about everything else.

when I finally get home 

I touched my pillow and whispered,

Maybe I'm not too broken to start again.

Then I turned off the light not to hide, but to rest.