"Breathe, Charlotte. Just breathe," I muttered to my reflection.
The bathroom mirror in the academic conference center wasn't fancy, but the person staring back at me was unrecognizable from who she used to be. I had my hair pinned up neatly, subtle makeup, a crisp blazer, and a name tag that read:
Charlotte Samson – Princeton University | Medical Research Presenter
I used to walk past rooms like this, wondering if I'd ever belong. Now, I was here.
"You ready?" Sophie popped her head in, already armed with her phone, probably recording every possible moment. "Because the organizers just called your name."
I gave her a nervous smile. "As I'll ever be."
She walked in fully and straightened my collar. "You're not just going to present, Charlotte. You're going to own that stage."
"I wish I had your confidence."
"You borrowed it long enough. Now it's yours."
I laughed—nervously—and walked with her to the auditorium. James was already seated in the front row, giving me a silent thumbs up as I stepped behind the podium.
I swallowed. Then I spoke.
"My name is Charlotte Samson. I am a senior at Princeton University, and today, I'll be presenting my research on patient recovery trends in post-operative care and the underestimated influence of emotional stability on healing."
As I talked, I forgot the nerves. I forgot the crowd. The graphs on the projector weren't just data; they were the stories of people I'd met during my internship, the faces of patients whose recoveries amazed and inspired me.
And the audience listened.
They didn't just clap—they engaged. Questions were asked. Notes were taken. I heard murmurs of "Impressive" and "She's sharp."
I had never felt so seen. So… respected.
Afterward, as I stepped off the stage, James met me halfway down the aisle.
"You just outshined half the faculty here."
"Oh, stop," I said, brushing him playfully.
"I'm serious. If you were nervous, I couldn't tell. You looked like you were born to do that."
"I think I was," I said without thinking. And surprisingly, I meant it.
Later that evening, we went out to celebrate—Sophie, James, and I. The usual café with outdoor string lights, where we used to study or decompress, now felt like a celebration hall.
"I got offered a follow-up interview for a medical publishing internship," I told them between bites of chocolate cake.
James raised his glass. "To Charlotte. From invisible to unforgettable."
We clinked glasses, and Sophie added, "To milestones… and mirrors that finally reflect the truth."
I smiled, but my eyes glistened. Because I knew this wasn't the end. Not yet.
There were more doors to open.
And I wasn't afraid of any of them anymore.