Meera walked home with heavy books,
the street buzzing louder than her thoughts.
Every step felt slower than the crowd,
but she kept her head lifted anyway.
At school she hadn’t spoken much.
Her answer stayed caught in her throat,
yet when a friend forgot her notes,
Meera quietly shared her own.
By the bakery, rain began to fall.
She waited under the awning,
watching strangers rush and curse
she simply breathed, letting the storm pass.
A little girl dropped her ribbon in a puddle.
Meera bent, fished it out, tied it again.
The child’s smile lingered longer
than the gray of the sky.
That night, she placed her books aside,
looked in the mirror and didn’t flinch.
“Not perfect,” she whispered, “but still me.
And still enough to begin again tomorrow...
the street buzzing louder than her thoughts.
Every step felt slower than the crowd,
but she kept her head lifted anyway.
At school she hadn’t spoken much.
Her answer stayed caught in her throat,
yet when a friend forgot her notes,
Meera quietly shared her own.
By the bakery, rain began to fall.
She waited under the awning,
watching strangers rush and curse
she simply breathed, letting the storm pass.
A little girl dropped her ribbon in a puddle.
Meera bent, fished it out, tied it again.
The child’s smile lingered longer
than the gray of the sky.
That night, she placed her books aside,
looked in the mirror and didn’t flinch.
“Not perfect,” she whispered, “but still me.
And still enough to begin again tomorrow...
