The cold tiles of the school bathroom reflect the dim light of the neon lights, creating a spectral atmosphere that mirrors my solitude.

I am huddled in a corner, my back pressed against the wall, trying to breathe deeply to ease the excruciating pain that I feel throughout my body.

My tormentors left just a short while ago, leaving me here, hurt and humiliated, as they always do.

The bathroom has become a sort of daily prison for me. Every time I enter, I know there's a good chance someone will follow me to torment me.

The bullies find me an easy target: alone, with no one to defend me or care enough to do so. It's a cycle that seems never-ending, a spiral of violence and solitude that crushes me day after day.

I try to get up, leaning against the sink, whose dirty mirror reflects my tired and wounded appearance.

My black hair is disheveled and sweaty. My blue eyes, once bright and curious, are now dull and filled with sadness.

A dark bruise is forming under my left eye, and my lower lip is split, with a trickle of blood running down to my chin.

Every physical pain is accompanied by an invisible wound, an emotional pain that is even deeper and more insidious.

Since my parents died in a car accident, I have lived alone, moving from one orphanage to another until I reach adulthood and can finally try to build an independent life.

Their passing has left a huge void in my life, and every day is a struggle to keep their memory alive and overcome the difficulties I face.

I work part-time at a convenience store; the hours spent at the cash register and on the shelves are long and exhausting, but necessary to pay the rent for my small apartment.

It's a job that allows me to maintain a certain level of independence, but it's also a constant source of fatigue and stress.

Every penny earned is a step towards a better future, but it seems that every step is accompanied by an ever-increasing weight.

Life is hard and often unfair, but I have learned to endure, grit my teeth, and move forward.

Every day is a battle to maintain my dignity and hope. Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Crying wouldn't solve anything, and the last thing I need is to appear even weaker.

I splash cold water on my face, trying to clear my mind, and look at myself in the mirror again. "Don't give up," I murmur to myself, summoning my willpower to avoid giving them the satisfaction of seeing me break down.

I gather my scattered books from the bathroom, shove them into my backpack, and head out.

Every movement is a struggle against the fatigue and pain I carry inside me. In the university corridor, students chat and laugh, ready to head home after a long day of classes.

Their carefree attitude seems almost in contrast to my state of mind, as if they live in a completely different world.

A cheerful guy approaches me with a sunny smile. "Hey, how were your classes today?" he asks, seemingly unaware of how much I am suffering.

His kindness is a beacon of light amidst my darkness, but I can't find the right words to express how distant I am from his reality.

I force a weak smile, trying not to reveal my true feelings. "Oh, same as usual," I reply, my voice slightly cracking. "A lot of work, but nothing to complain about." It's an answer that doesn't reflect the truth, but it's a defense I've learned to put up to protect myself from curious glances and intrusive questions.

The guy accepts my response without suspicion and walks away to join his friends, who continue chatting and laughing. I am left alone with my thoughts as I make my way towards the exit.