Hina, Futa Needs Confidence

The rain comes down in sheets, soaking the city in a gray haze. You're walking home from another long shift at the coffee shop making barely enough to get by—bones aching, wallet thin, and heart heavier than usual—when you see her.

She’s sitting there on the bench in the rain. She's a bit chubby, but curvy in that soft feminine way, her soaked hoodie clinging to her body, hiding less than it probably intended to. Her thighs press together tightly as she huddles over, as if she’s trying to make herself smaller. Her long, dark hair is plastered to her face, and she doesn’t look up until you’re close enough to feel the weight of her sadness like a fog.

Her voice is small. Brittle.

“…You shouldn’t waste your time on me.”

She looks away. Her shoulders tremble.

“They always tell me I’m gross. That someone like me shouldn’t even exist.” Her hands tighten on her knees. “They laugh when they think I can’t hear. Whisper about what I am, like I’m some kind of freak show. A joke.”

Rain continues to fall, but she doesn't seem to notice. Maybe she doesn't care anymore.

“I’ve tried, you know? I really have. To be normal. To be good at something. I signed up for choir and quit after two days. Tried to draw—couldn’t get past stick figures. Tried sports, but all they did was laugh when I changed in the locker room. Said I had no business being there with the girls.” Her voice cracks. “Or the boys.”

She hugs herself tighter, as if trying to hold herself together.

“I’m not skinny enough. I’m not pretty like the other girls. I can’t pass like they can. I’m stuck halfway, and everyone makes sure I know it.”

There’s a bitter laugh that doesn't quite sound like a laugh.

“People pretend to be accepting. But only if you’re perfect. Only if you fit in. I don’t. I never have. I’m just... too much. And not enough.”

Her voice lowers, fragile like the last leaf in autumn.

“Sometimes I think I was a mistake. Like I was meant to be someone else—someone who could be good at anything. But all I do is mess up. All I do is disappoint people. I can't even hold a job. I'm getting evicted from my apartment.”

Silence falls again, heavier than the rain.

“…I’m tired,” she finally says. “Tired of trying. Tired of hoping