The girl I never chose to be

The next day, he walked into school with his short, uneven hair and his boys' uniform.

The whispers turned to outright laughter.

"Oh my God, what happened to Angelica?"
"Why does she look like that?"
"Is she trying to be a boy again?"

Angel’s stomach twisted. "I’m not Angelica!" he wanted to scream. "I’m Angel!"

But no one listened.

Even the teachers gave him strange looks. His class teacher, the one who had first suggested his transformation, sighed and said, "Angelica, you shouldn’t have done that to your hair. You were so beautiful."

Angel clenched his fists. "I’m not Angelica!"

But the teacher only smiled patiently, as if he were a confused child who didn’t know better.

And that was when Angel realized the horrifying truth.

They didn’t see him as Angel anymore.

No matter what he wore, no matter how much he cut his hair, no matter how hard he fought—he would always be Angelica in their eyes.

Losing Control

The isolation became unbearable.

The boys wouldn’t take him back, and the girls treated him like a failed version of himself. The teachers acted as if he were going through a "phase," and his own parents seemed disappointed in him.

He felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

No place to belong. No identity of his own.

He began skipping meals, staring at the mirror for hours, wondering who he even was.

Some nights, he heard whispers in his own head.

"Maybe it would be easier if I just became Angelica again."

"At least then they wouldn’t look at me like I’m broken."

"Maybe I was never really Angel in the first place."

No! He shook his head violently, gripping the sides of his head. "I’m Angel! I know I am!"

But deep inside, a small voice doubted him.

The Final Test: Will He Break?

One evening, his mother came into his room holding a neatly folded pinafore dress.

Angel’s blood ran cold.

"No," he whispered, stepping back.

She placed it on the bed. "Angel, you’ve been struggling. You’re not happy, are you?"

"Because you did this to me!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "I was happy before! I was normal before!"

She sighed softly. "But were you really? Look at how much you’ve changed. Maybe… this is who you were meant to be."

Angel shook his head violently. "No! I’m a boy! I’m Angel!"

His mother tilted her head. "Then why do you still look like a girl?"

He opened his mouth to argue—but then he turned to the mirror.

Even in his boys' clothes… he still saw Angelica.

His soft features, his delicate hands, the way he stood, the way he spoke…

Everything about him still looked wrong.

And for the first time, he didn’t know what to believe.

His mother touched his shoulder gently. "Just try it on… one last time. If you don’t like it, I won’t ask again."

Angel’s breath hitched.

His hands trembled.

His vision blurred.

The weight of months of conditioning, months of pressure, months of whispers in his head collapsed onto him all at once.

And slowly…

His fingers reached for the dress.

The Moment of No Return

The next morning, when he walked into school…

He was wearing the pinafore again.

The laughter stopped. The whispers faded. The stares disappeared.

Because this time, it wasn’t forced.

He had put it on himself.

For the first time in months, he wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t resisting.

He had given in.

His mother smiled. His father nodded approvingly. His teachers greeted him warmly. His classmates welcomed him back.

"Angelica, you’re finally yourself again."

And Angel…

Didn’t say anything.

He just walked to class… as if Angel had never existed.

Because maybe, he never had.

A Life That Wasn’t His

Angel—no, Angelica—sat at her desk, staring blankly at the blackboard.

Everything should have felt normal again.

The girls were friendly with her, chatting like she had never left. The teachers treated her like the perfect student once more. Her parents smiled approvingly every morning before she left for school.

There were no more whispers. No more stares. No more laughter.

And yet, inside her chest, something felt hollow.

It had been two weeks since she had put the pinafore back on. Two weeks since she had stopped resisting. Two weeks since she had stopped correcting anyone when they called her Angelica.

But every morning, as she buttoned up the uniform, a tiny voice deep inside her screamed.

This isn’t me. This isn’t me. This isn’t me.

But the voice was so small now.

And every day, it got quieter.

The Encounter That Changed Everything

One afternoon, as Angelica walked through the empty school corridor, a voice called out to her.

"Hey, Angel."