Two weeks in, Lenna hardly recognizes herself.
When she was younger, she kept her head down, soft and blurred. But here, in this place where nobody knows the old version of her, she finds herself sharper. She laughs louder. She leans in when boys talk, tossing out little lines just to see what comes back. Flirting once felt like an act she could never quite pull off; now it slips out of her easily, like her body has learned a new language while she wasn’t paying attention.
And then there’s the dancing. At the welcome mixer, she hadn’t meant to let go the way she did. One song bled into another, and soon she was moving like she didn’t care who was watching. For a moment, she forgot about being “new” or “friendless”, she just disappeared into rhythm. She used to think dancing was something you did at the edges, swaying carefully, half-hidden. But now, she wants to lose herself in it, to let it swallow her whole.
It surprises her. She always imagined she’d be the kind of girl who didn’t need anyone, who stayed steady and watchful, just as her mother always said: eyes peeled, head screwed on. Maybe she still is that girl. But she is also something else now, someone who can flirt, someone who can dance, someone who can be different without asking permission.
And she doesn’t hate it. I don't hate it.
Love, Lenna ❤
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