Some scars never show on the skin.Mahi had one too. It wasn’t the kind that bled, but the kind that lived quietly under her silence.It had happened two years ago—during a school play. Mahi had been so excited. She had only one line to say. Just one. Her mother had stitched her dress overnight. Her father had clicked photos as she practised in the mirror.But when her moment came—standing in front of a crowd, under the bright lights—she froze.The words disappeared.Her throat felt dry, her knees shook. And the silence grew longer than it should have.Someone from the audience had laughed.Then another.The teacher gently guided her off the stage. “It’s okay,” she had said.But Mahi remembered the sound of that laughter more than the comfort.For months after that, she stopped raising her hand in class. She avoided eye contact. And every time someone called her name aloud, her stomach would twist.
She had once thought of tearing that photo—her standing in the costume, smiling proudly before the play.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she hid it deep inside her old school notebook.
Some nights, she’d take it out, look at it quietly, and whisper:
"You tried. That matters."
It had taken her almost two years to say that without tears in her eyes.
Mahi didn’t want to erase that moment anymore.
She just wanted it to stop hurting.
That night, after school, Mahi sat by the window, holding her diary.> Dear Moon,Do you remember that day? I know it’s silly to ask.But I still feel it sometimes.The silence. The stage. The burning eyes.But today… something different happened.She paused.
At recess, she’d sat under the big neem tree, writing in her notebook.
She wasn’t hiding anymore.
Some students still ignored her.
Some didn’t.
She noticed a little boy crying near the tap.
His bottle had broken.
Mahi walked over, gave him her own water bottle, and said, “It’s okay. You can use mine.”
He looked up with surprise. Then nodded.
That small thank-you—no applause, no crowd—felt bigger than any stage
Today, Tara had asked her, “How do you always look so calm?”Mahi was surprised. Calm? That word had never belonged to her before.But maybe it had begun to grow roots.She replied with a smile and said, “I just talk to the moon sometimes.”They both laughed.It felt warm and real.---She closed her diary and looked up. The moon was hidden again tonight, behind thick clouds. But that didn’t bother her anymore.She had learned something.
She didn’t write much more that night.
Just closed the diary and sat in the stillness.
The fear was still somewhere inside her—but now, it didn’t feel like a monster.
It felt like an echo.
And echoes fade.
She ran her fingers across the edge of her white scarf.
“I’m still becoming,” she whispered.
“But I’m not afraid to begin again.”
And in that quiet, something inside her whispered, “You already have".
"Always "
Even when the moon isn’t visible—it’s still there.Just like her voice. Just like her courage.---
🌟 Moral of the Story:We all carry silent scars. But healing begins the moment we stop hiding from them.Even the darkest memories can become soft reminders of how far we’ve come.
