His Chubby Luna’s Untouchable Glow-Up Chapter 05

His Chubby Luna’s Untouchable Glow-Up Chapter 05

After Vincent left, another, even longer letter arrived in my inbox.

It was not an apology. It was a collection of memories.

He wrote about us at five, building castles in the preschool sandbox. Mine always collapsed, and he rebuilt them while pretending to complain.

He wrote about the boy who pulled my braids in grade school. Vincent fought him, split his forehead, and still grinned as he called himself my hero.

He wrote about middle school gym class, when I could not run and he walked lap after lap beside me while the sunset stretched our shadows across the field.

He wrote about every time I nervously asked how I had done on a test, and he called me silly because of course I had passed.

[Rachel, have you forgotten all of that? We had so many good times. Do none of them count because I screwed up later?]

I remembered.

Those happy days were like old photographs I had carefully stored in a corner of my memory.

But they had faded and blurred, beneath all the sharper fragments that came afterward.

The slightest touch left my hands bleeding.

I sent him a very short reply.

[Vincent, I remember. But memories cannot save the present, and I no longer need yours to prove that my past was real.]

After sending it, I blocked the address.

Life moved forward.

I began choosing clothes that fit properly in soft colors, and my roommate taught me how to apply light makeup.

She said, “Rachel, you have beautiful fair skin. A little lipstick will brighten your whole face.”

I looked at the girl in the mirror, with her round cheeks and clear, expressive eyes.

I smiled. Even my wolf paced proudly beside me. [Rachel, you really are beautiful.]

My hair reached my collarbones, with the ends curling slightly inward.

When I went for a trim, the stylist said, “This length suits you. It frames your face beautifully.”

So I stopped clinging to the dream of waist-length hair.

It was my hair. Long or short, straight or curly, it only had to feel natural and comfortable to me.

During the second semester of freshman year, I entered a national public-speaking competition.

Every morning, I memorized my speech on the athletic field and practiced my expressions and gestures before the empty bleachers.

The final was held in the university auditorium, and I drew the third speaking slot.

Standing beneath the lights, I could not make out individual faces, only a blur of shadows in the audience.

I took a deep breath and began.

My speech was titled “Labels.”

I spoke about every label forced on me while growing up: fat girl, clumsy, delusional.

I explained how I had peeled them away one by one and found my own voice.

At one point, a quiet sob came from the audience.

When I finished, thunderous applause filled the auditorium. I bowed and left the stage.

That night, I updated my long-neglected social media account with a selfie and a photograph of my certificate.

[Keep moving forward. The sky will brighten on its own.]

Many former high school classmates liked the post and left comments.

[Congratulations! You’re incredible, Rachel. You’ve changed so much. You look beautiful and confident now!]

Daphne commented too. [Still as ridiculous as ever.]

I ignored her completely.

A few minutes later, the comment vanished. She had probably deleted it herself.

Vincent did not like the post.

But late that night, he changed his profile picture to a solid black square.

Less than twenty-four hours after my update, I received a new friend request.