You can see it in the way she sits—hunched over, as though cramped, except there’s space all around her. The slightest of flinches when people approach her to talk. The inability to meet their eyes. The telltale flush that rises from her neck.

You can see that she hates this part of herself. She sits there, stunted, unable to push through the invisible boundaries that she has imposed on herself. The question in her eyes—will I ever get out?

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