The Smile No One Questioned
THE HIDDEN WOUND
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Bottom of Form
Rashi smiled as she walked down the road. It was an easy smile, the kind people trusted, the kind that made them believe she was okay. No one noticed how tightly her fingers curled into her palm or how her steps slowed whenever her thoughts grew heavier. Pain didn’t follow her loudly; it followed her quietly.
She paused when she saw a mother adjusting her child’s bag, scolding softly before pulling them closer. There was warmth in the way she touched her child’s hair natural and effortless. Rashi looked away. Some things hurt more when you stare at them too long. Something twisted in her chest, not a new pain but an old one, the kind you learn to live with because speaking about it never changes anything. Her smile faded for just a second before she wiped her eyes, surprised by the tears that had escaped without permission. She didn’t let them fall for long.
By the time she reached home, her body felt tired, but her mind was already exhausted. As soon as she stepped inside, her mother’s taunts filled the air, followed by her father’s familiar yelling. No questions, no concern just noise. Rashi sighed. She was used to it now. Somewhere along the way, she had accepted that warmth and understanding were not meant for her. She didn’t have a mother who could understand her pain just by looking at her, nor a father who would stand against the world for his child. Those parents existed, just not in her life.
She walked into her room and locked the door behind her. The silence felt heavy but safe. Pressing her back against the door, she slowly slid down, as if she had been holding herself together all day and had finally let go. Tears fell, but she wiped them away quickly, stopping them before they could turn into sobs. When she looked up, her reflection stared back at her. She looked thinner, dark circles clinging to her eyes like proof of every sleepless night. A beautiful face carrying quiet damage.
No one would believe she could cry. At college, she laughed the loudest, joked the most, smiled until people stopped asking questions. They never knew it was an act. They never saw the wound. Some wounds don’t bleed or leave marks you can point to. They hide deep inside, learning how to smile, waiting to be noticed.
That night, Rashi lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence she had grown comfortable with. Sleep refused to come, as it often did. Her mind wandered to memories she tried not to touch the ones that taught her early on that crying wouldn’t change anything.
She wondered when she had learned to stay quiet, when she had decided that her pain was something to carry alone. Maybe it was easier that way. Maybe expecting less hurt less.
As tears welled up again, she didn’t rush to stop them. She let them fall, slowly, honestly. It wasn’t healing yet, but it was the first time she allowed herself to feel without hiding. And somewhere deep inside, the hidden wound stirred not healed, but finally acknowledged.
