The Making of a Different Hafsa
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Seventh grade was supposed to be a time of growth and exploration, a chance to step further into adolescence with all its highs and lows. For Hafsa, however, it was a year defined by emotional turbulence and an unrelenting sense of inadequacy. Her grades were mediocre, her parents were always dissatisfied, and her friends were wrapped up in their own struggles. The cycle of being scolded, mocked, and misunderstood seemed never-ending, and Hafsa found herself slipping into a state of hopelessness.
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It started slowly. In 7th grade, Hafsa was still the same girl she’d been in earlier years—chatty, sensitive, and full of warmth. She would eagerly share her dreams with her friends, even if those dreams were often dismissed by her family as childish nonsense. But the constant criticisms began to take a toll. Her parents’ voices echoed in her mind: lazy, ungrateful, failure. The words followed her even in her happiest moments, creeping into her thoughts like an unwelcome shadow.
One afternoon during a study break, Hafsa sat with her friends, Rida, Mysha, Nafisa, and Shoshi, at the back of the classroom. The chatter and laughter were loud, but Hafsa’s voice carried above the rest as she shared her thoughts.
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“You know what? I’ve been thinking…I want to become an IELTS-certified trainer someday,” Hafsa said confidently, her eyes gleaming with determination.
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Rida, the older sister figure of the group, gave her an approving nod. “That’s a great goal, Hafsa. It suits you. You’ve always had a knack for English.”
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“Exactly!” Mysha chimed in, grinning. “And imagine how cool it’ll be to say, ‘I’m teaching people to go abroad.’ You’d totally rock it!”
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“But IELTS isn’t easy,” Nafisa cautioned, leaning in. “It’s not just about being good at English. You’ll need top scores in school, too.”
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“I know,” Hafsa replied, her voice softening. “I’ve already started watching videos online. I’ll study harder from now on.”
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Shoshi, ever the one to lighten the mood, added with a playful smile, “And when you’re famous, don’t forget us, okay? We’ll be the students who always sneak snacks in your classes.”
Everyone burst into laughter, and for a moment, Hafsa felt lighter. In their support, she found hope.
By the end of 7th grade, Hafsa began to change. She started speaking less at home, retreating into the silence of her room. Her parents, thinking this was just a phase, continued to push her harder. “You need to grow up, Hafsa. Stop being so emotional all the time,” her mother would say, unaware that Hafsa was already growing up—just not in the way they had hoped.
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Eighth Grade: The Cold Front Forms
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Eighth grade marked the beginning of Hafsa’s emotional withdrawal. She learned to keep her feelings hidden, to mask her vulnerability with a façade of indifference. When her parents scolded her, she no longer cried. Instead, she stared blankly at them, nodding at all the right moments but letting their words roll off her like water off a stone. This newfound coldness confused her family.
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“Why are you so quiet all the time?” her father asked one evening as she sat at the dinner table, eating mechanically.
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“I have nothing to say,” she replied flatly, her voice devoid of emotion.
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Her mother shook her head in frustration. “You’re becoming so rude. You never talk to us anymore.”
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Hafsa didn’t respond. She didn’t see the point. Talking only gave them more ammunition to use against her.
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At school, her friends began to notice the change too. Hafsa, who had once been the life of their group, now seemed distant and detached. She no longer laughed at their jokes or joined in their gossip. Instead, she spent her breaks buried in books, her headphones plugged in to drown out the world.
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“Are you okay, Hafsa?” one of her friends asked one day during lunch.
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“I’m fine,” she said, forcing a small smile. But the look in her eyes told a different story.
Eighth grade marked the beginning of Hafsa’s emotional withdrawal. She learned to keep her feelings hidden, to mask her vulnerability with a façade of indifference.
One evening at the dinner table, her parents confronted her again about her future.
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“Why do you always lock yourself in your room?” her mother asked, her voice sharp with frustration.
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“I’m studying,” Hafsa replied flatly, barely looking up from her plate.
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Her father frowned. “Studying doesn’t mean cutting yourself off from everyone. You never talk to us anymore.”
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“I talk when I need to,” Hafsa said, her tone calm but distant.
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Her mother sighed heavily. “You’re so rude these days, Hafsa. What’s gotten into you?”
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“I’m just focused on my goals,” Hafsa said, her voice quieter now.
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At school, Rida pulled her aside during recess. “You’ve been so quiet lately. Are you okay?”
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“I’m fine,” Hafsa replied with a shrug, though her eyes betrayed her exhaustion.
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“You know we’re here for you, right?” Rida said gently.
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Hafsa managed a small smile. “Thanks, Rida. I’ll be okay. Promise.”
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But even as she said the words, Hafsa felt the walls around her heart grow taller.
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A New Obsession: Slimmer and Smarter
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By ninth grade, Hafsa had found a new way to cope with the chaos around her. She became obsessed with self-improvement, not out of a genuine desire for growth but as a means of proving everyone wrong. She started waking up at dawn to exercise, following workout routines she found online. Her diet became strict—she avoided sweets and fried foods, much to her family’s surprise.
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“What’s with all the dieting?” her aunt asked during a family gathering. “You’re already skinny enough. Are you trying to disappear?”
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Hafsa simply shrugged. “I just want to be healthier.”
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But it wasn’t just about health. It was about control. In a world where everything felt out of her hands, controlling her body and her habits gave her a sense of power.
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Her grades improved too. She spent hours studying, poring over textbooks and solving problems late into the night. Her parents, initially pleased with her progress, soon began to complain about her new routine.
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“You’re always in your room,” her father said one evening. “Do you think ignoring us is going to help you?”
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“I’m studying,” Hafsa replied curtly, not even looking up from her notebook.
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“You can’t just shut us out like this,” her mother added. “Family is important, Hafsa.”
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Hafsa wanted to laugh at the irony. Family is important? When did you ever treat me like I mattered? she thought but didn’t say.
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Tenth Grade: The New Hafsa
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By the time Hafsa reached 10th grade, the transformation was complete. She was no longer the soft, sensitive girl her family once knew. Her face had become sharper, her frame slimmer, her demeanor colder. She carried herself with a confidence that was almost intimidating, her every action deliberate and calculated.
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Her grades were among the best in her class now, but the recognition she once craved no longer mattered to her. When her parents praised her, she nodded politely but felt nothing. When her relatives asked how she had achieved such a drastic change, she brushed off their questions with vague answers.
the transformation was complete. Her focus and discipline paid off as she topped her class, shocking everyone—including herself.
At the annual awards ceremony, Hafsa stood on stage as the announcer declared her the first in class among all sections. Applause erupted in the hall, but all Hafsa could hear was the thunderous beating of her own heart.
Back at her seat, Rida hugged her tightly. “You did it, Hafsa! I knew you could.”
Mysha wiped away fake tears. “Our Hafsa, the genius. I’m so proud of you!”
Shoshi grinned. “And you didn’t even need snacks to power through the exams. Incredible.”
Even Nafisa, usually the practical one, smiled warmly. “This is just the beginning. You’ve got so much more ahead of you.”
Later that evening, Hafsa sat with her family, who were uncharacteristically silent.
Her father cleared his throat. “I have to admit, Hafsa, I didn’t think you’d pull this off.”
Her mother added, “We’re… proud of you.”
“Thanks,” Hafsa replied, her voice steady but devoid of emotion.
Inside, she felt a bittersweet satisfaction. She had proven everyone wrong,
but at what cost?
“She’s so different now,” her aunt whispered to her mother during a family gathering. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“She’s just maturing,” her mother replied, though even she seemed uncertain.
But her friends weren’t convinced. They missed the old Hafsa—the girl who used to laugh at their silly jokes and share her secrets with them. Now, she seemed like a stranger, someone they couldn’t reach no matter how hard they tried.
“Hafsa, we’re worried about you,” one of them said after school one day.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Hafsa replied, her tone dismissive. “I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t fine. Deep down, she felt hollow, as if she had stripped away every part of herself that was vulnerable or weak, only to be left with a shell of a person. She had spent so long trying to prove her worth to others that she no longer knew who she was.
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The Mockery of Relatives
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Despite her achievements, Hafsa’s relatives found ways to undermine her.
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“She’s so skinny now,” one of them said during a family gathering. “Does she even eat properly?”
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“Maybe she’s trying to look like those models on TV,” another added with a laugh.
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Her mother defended her half-heartedly. “She’s just focusing on her health. It’s a good thing.”
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But the mocking comments didn’t stop. “She’s so quiet these days. It’s like she doesn’t even have a personality anymore.”
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Hafsa overheard these conversations but didn’t react. She had learned to let their words wash over her, just as she had learned to do with her parents. But each comment left a small crack in her armor, a reminder that no matter how much she changed, she would never be enough for them.
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The Cost of Transformation
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By the end of 10th grade, Hafsa had achieved everything she had set out to do. She was slimmer, smarter, and more disciplined than ever before. But the cost of her transformation was steep. She had lost her sense of self, her relationships, and her ability to feel joy.
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Her parents, though still critical, were confused by the person she had become. “She’s so different now,” her father said one evening. “I don’t even recognize her anymore.”
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Her mother nodded, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I thought this is what we wanted—for her to grow up, to be stronger. But now… I don’t know.”
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Hafsa, sitting in her room, overheard their conversation through the thin walls. For a moment, she felt a pang of something—regret, maybe, or longing. But she quickly pushed it aside. She couldn’t afford to feel.
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Her friends, once her closest confidants, had grown distant. They tried to reach out, but Hafsa always kept them at arm’s length. She didn’t want to risk getting hurt again.
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And so, Hafsa entered the final stretch of her school years as a completely different person. She had become the version of herself that everyone had demanded—but in doing so, she had lost everything that made her who she was.
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