The airport felt colder than usual as I clutched my boarding card. It had been a month since the car accident, where glass from the airbag left a jagged scar across my face. The doctors had stitched it up, but the mark remained. It had become part of me.
People noticed the scar first, before they saw me. It had taken weeks to face my reflection after removing the bandages, and my friends tried to cheer me up, saying it made me look like a warrior.
On the plane, I tried to escape my thoughts with music, but then I overheard a couple’s harsh words. The man pointed at me, asking if I could hide the scar. His girlfriend covered her nose and complained, and I felt my face flush with humiliation.
Then the flight attendant intervened. Calmly, she instructed the couple to move to the back of the plane, and with kindness, offered me a seat in business class.
For the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to cry. As the plane soared through the sky, I realized I was starting to feel hope again.
