By Muskan Bhupesh
I imagined it for days—
A day wrapped in ribbons and lace,
Like her birthday, with a Barbie dress,
Spinning in glitter,
Crowned with dreams of being seen.
But that morning,
My mirror told a different tale:
A worn-out grey dress,
Threadbare and tired,
Covered by a red jacket
That didn’t belong to my dreams.
For two days, I begged—
My voice small but desperate—
“Just a few candies, Papa, please.”
Not for me, but for the hands of my friends,
For a sweetness I could share,
For a celebration that felt like mine.
The candies, when they came,
Felt heavy in my palms,
As if carrying my hope, my quiet victory.
At school, I stood alone in my wish,
My jacket turning heads,
But not in awe—
In laughter.
Each giggle pierced through me,
A reminder of how far my dreams
Had slipped from my grasp.
They didn’t know the tears
I tucked into the seams,
The helpless hours spent
Piecing together a celebration
That wasn’t mine to have.
They didn’t see
The hope stitched into that red jacket,
Its fraying edges
A symbol of my small victories,
Now twisted into ridicule.
In that moment,
The candles on my imagined cake
Flickered out.
I gave out candies,
Each smile from my classmates
A bittersweet reminder
Of the joy I had tried to create.
The grey dress,
The red jacket,
The day I had longed for
Became a memory I wear still—
A quiet testament
To the strength it takes
To dream.