The next day, the hallway chatter seemed louder than usual, and Sophie couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was talking about her. Heads turned as she walked by, and hushed whispers followed her footsteps.
By the time she reached her locker, Rachel was already waiting, her face a mixture of excitement and concern.
"Have you seen the forum?" Rachel asked, holding up her phone.
Sophie frowned, shaking her head. "No. What now?"
Rachel handed over her phone. The screen displayed a thread titled: The Truth About Sophie's Poem. Below, a few users had posted comments speculating about Sophie's personal life, some suggesting the poem was about her family, others claiming it was about a secret relationship.
Sophie felt her stomach twist.
"This is ridiculous," Sophie muttered, handing the phone back. "Why does everything have to turn into gossip?"
Rachel placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "People are just curious because your poem was so real. Don't let it get to you."
Sophie nodded, but the unease lingered.
---
In English class, Sophie kept her head down, avoiding the occasional glance from her classmates. When the bell rang, she bolted for the door, but Mr. Daniels stopped her.
"Sophie, can I have a word?" he asked.
She hesitated before stepping back into the classroom.
Mr. Daniels gestured to a chair. "Have a seat."
Sophie sat, her heart pounding.
"I saw the thread on the forum," he began gently. "I want you to know that it's not uncommon for people to try and attach meaning to art, especially when it resonates deeply."
"It's just… frustrating," Sophie admitted. "I wrote that poem for me, not for everyone to dissect."
Mr. Daniels nodded. "I understand. But remember, once you share your work, it takes on a life of its own. That's both the beauty and the challenge of being an artist."
Sophie looked at him, his words sinking in. "So, what do I do?"
"You keep writing," he said with a small smile. "You don't owe anyone an explanation. Let your work speak for itself."
---
Later that afternoon, Sophie found herself back in the library, her notebook open but untouched.
Jason appeared, as if on cue, and slid into the seat across from her.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.
Sophie sighed. "Not really. The forum… people are making up stories about me."
Jason leaned forward, his expression serious. "You can't control what people say, Sophie. But you can control how you respond."
Sophie gave him a half-smile. "You sound like a fortune cookie."
Jason chuckled. "Maybe. But I'm serious. Don't let them take away the joy of what you do."
For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
---
That night, Sophie wrote another poem. This one wasn't for the forum or for anyone else to see. It was for her—a quiet affirmation of who she was and why she wrote in the first place.