OUR LITTLE SECRET
“No one came for her.”
“She was invisible,” Ophelia said softly.
“No,” a voice echoed, “I was erased.”
Mira stepped forward, not as a towering data queen now—but as herself. Simple. Human. Seventeen. Sad eyes, wet hair, arms crossed like a shield.
“I kept trying to be someone worth noticing,” she said. “But the school rewards loudness, not brilliance. Power, not precision. I built simulations. I designed counter-algorithms. I helped them. But they only ever saw the ones who sparkled in front of a crowd.”
Bab Populer