"My father wanted a son. That much was clear long before I understood what those words even meant. When I was born instead, a girl, the future he had imagined ended in that moment. The expectations, the legacy, the careful image of who I was supposed to become, all of it collapsed the instant he saw me.
He couldn't accept it. He even tried abandoning me when I was an infant, but Grandpa found out and punished him harshly. After that, my father never looked at me again."
Her voice stayed steady, almost detached, but her eyes drifted far away. "For some reason, I remember far more of my childhood than most people I know. I remember how my mom and Grandpa pampered me endlessly. They called me their little princess, dressed me in sparkling dresses, showered me with gifts and toys, gave me everything I asked for.
I used to show off my gifts to my friends until they cried and forced their parents to buy them the same things. Hearing everyone call me princess made me believe I really was one. I acted like it too. I thought everyone would love me and adore me. I was naughty, mischievous, always causing trouble.
But when classes ended, and the other girls ran toward their smiling fathers, giggling and talking about how they waited for them all day, it hurt. And the kids I made cry made sure to hurt me back. They would rub it in, how their dads picked them up, how they had never seen my dad."
She pulled her knees closer to her chest. "That absence of my father's love never stopped hurting. No matter how much the world pampered me, just having one person so close to me never look at me, never acknowledge me as his own, it balanced out everything else."
Her lips curved into a bitter smile. "But something changed when I started school."
"I ranked third in my very first test and showed the results to Grandpa. He was so excited. He bragged to everyone about how his little bee was the smartest kid of all.
His bragging reached my father, and for the first time in my life, he spoke to me. I still remember his first words. 'Why didn't you top it?'"
I was too shocked to understand the question. I just stood there hearing his sharp voice first time directed to me. Maybe he took my silence as an answer, because he told me to follow him. He took my papers and pointed out where I went wrong. When he left, he said, 'I'm tutoring you starting tomorrow.'
I spent the entire day waiting for night to come, just so I could hear his voice again.
From that day on, he tutored me. But he made sure I understood one thing clearly. We were not father and daughter. We were mentor and student. He drew a strict line and told me never to call him Dad. Only Sir.
Day after day, he taught her. How to study. How to behave. How his students were always supposed to be at the top, never lose, never give up. He never spoke to me outside those hours. Never acknowledged my existence beyond that. But it was enough for me. For the first time, I felt fulfilled.
For two years, I tried to win him over."
Her gaze dropped. "Then Grandpa, the man who treated me like a princess and always called me his little bee, was diagnosed with dementia.
At first, it was small things. Forgetting his medicines. Repeating his words. Doing the same things again and again. Then he forgot names. First the neighbors. Then his friends. Then our relatives.
One day, I came home with a trophy from a competition. Like always, I ran to him, hoping he would praise me, call me his best little bee.
She clenched her fists. "He looked at me, confused, and asked, 'Who are you?'"
I didn't understand. I said, 'I'm your little bee. Your princess.'
Her breath hitched. "What he said next broke me.
'My little bee is a chatty, sweet little girl full of smiles. You are nothing like her.'
I tried to speak. I said, 'But I'm…'
He cut me off. 'You are not her. You don't look like my chatty girl. You don't have her smile.'
Then he walked past me, calling out, 'Little bee, where are you? Let's play a game. I'll tell you another adventure story if you win.'
A hollow chuckle escaped her. "I was five when my father started molding me into his perfect student. For two years, he shaped me into someone who could satisfy him.
That day, after Grandpa walked away, I looked at myself in the mirror. I couldn't recognize the girl staring back at me. My eyes were cold, empty. My face looked like it had forgotten how to smile.
I tried to smile. I tried to remember the smile Grandpa loved. But nothing came. It was like I had lost all memories of who I was before.
I cried that night. A lot.
Then, strangely, I stopped. Not because the tears dried up, but because a voice echoed in my head. 'You are a strong girl. You must always be at the top.' It repeated like a mantra, holding me together.
It turned everything into another competition. One I had to win. I decided I would make Grandpa recognize me again.
So I gathered every photo and video of me with Grandpa and Mom. I watched them over and over for a whole week. I practiced my smile, my voice, my expressions.
And then I went to Grandpa and smiled at him.
He hugged me instantly. 'Where did you go, little bee? I was looking for you everywhere.'
I thought I would feel satisfied, like after winning any other competition. But instead, it was like a switch flipped. All my memories came rushing back. My silly questions. The way they laughed at them. The way they pampered me, showered me with gifts. The love. The way I used to smile without thinking.
Without realizing it, my pretend smile turned real. My eyes felt alive again. I spent the whole day giggling, asking stupid questions like before, listening to Grandpa's stories. Mom joined us too. I think she had been worried about my silence for a long time but was afraid of my father.
That day, she smiled with us again. Just like old times.
And that day passed, quietly, peacefully, until it was time for my tutoring.
I sat in the room with my books open in front of me, legs swinging slightly beneath the chair, a silly smile still resting on my lips. My chest felt light. I was replaying Grandpa's laugh in my head, the way he hugged me and called me his little bee.
The door opened.
The moment my father stepped inside, the first thing he said was, "Stop smiling."
It was instant.
As if a switch had been flipped, my smile vanished. The warmth drained from my face. My eyes turned cold, my back straightened, and my body went stiff without me even realizing it.
He began the lesson.
I answered every question perfectly, just like always. I listened. I nodded. I corrected my mistakes. I became the student he wanted.
Nothing more.
From that day on, I started living two lives.
One life with my mother and grandpa, always smiling, behaving like a pampered child and chatty. And another one for the world and my father, cold, less smiling, strong and always competing to be at the top.