Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 187

**Hearts Written in Silent Rain by Ava Bloomfield**

**Jessa**

Among all the evenings that had me on edge, I could have never anticipated that this particular night would be enveloped in such a profound stillness.

Not a stillness that felt empty or void of life.

Rather, it was a stillness that felt sacred, as if the universe was holding its breath, reluctant to disturb the magic unfolding in my small bedroom.

The warm, golden light from the lamp on my dresser bathed the room in a soft glow, wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. In the mirror, I caught sight of a version of myself that felt almost surreal—my hair half styled, the dress hanging on the closet door like it was yearning for the moment it could finally come to life, and a flutter of nerves dancing low in my stomach.

Behind me, I felt the gentle presence of my mother, her hands deftly brushing through my hair with a tenderness that made me feel cherished.

“I swear,” I remarked, glancing at our reflections, “Mariah makes this look so effortless.”

A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “Mariah has had her fair share of practice.”

“And YouTube,” I added with a playful roll of my eyes. “And a mountain of confidence.”

Mom met my gaze in the mirror, her eyes filled with understanding. “Confidence, my dear, is something that grows with time.”

I hesitated, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me. Finally, I confessed, “I’m… not very good at makeup.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying me. “You’ve never needed much.”

“That’s not quite what I meant,” I replied, swallowing hard. “Mariah always does my makeup. When I attempt it myself… I just end up feeling like I make it worse.”

Setting the brush aside, she turned the stool to face her directly.

“Why do you think that is?”

Her question landed heavily, and I felt the air thicken around us.

I focused on my hands resting in my lap, feeling small. “Because when Mariah does it, I look… pretty.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “But when I do it, I just look like… me.”

Mom’s brows knitted together in concern. “And what’s wrong with looking like you?”

A shaky laugh escaped me, but it felt more like a sigh of resignation. Nothing. I mean—everything, I suppose.

She waited patiently, as she always did, allowing the silence to encourage me to speak.

“I know I’m not… attractive,” I finally uttered, the words bitter on my tongue. “I know what people say. I’ve heard it for years.”

Her mouth opened, ready to argue, but I pressed on. “I know you don’t agree,” I rushed to clarify, “but it’s hard not to believe it when you hear it over and over again. When people joke. When kids laugh. Even when my own brother laughed.”

Mom inhaled sharply, pain flashing across her features.

“When you hear it ninety-nine times,” I continued quietly, “the hundredth time… you stop fighting it. You just accept it.”

She reached out, cupping my face gently, compelling me to meet her gaze.

“You are not ugly,” she stated firmly, her voice unwavering. “Not now. Not ever.”

I blinked back tears, feeling the weight of her words. “I don’t feel that way.”

Her thumb brushed delicately under my eye. “Feelings can deceive us sometimes.”

Turning my gaze back to the mirror, I took a deep breath.

“I know Noah doesn’t think I’m ugly,” I said softly, a hint of warmth creeping into my voice.

Mom smiled knowingly. “No, he certainly doesn’t.”

“I can tell,” I added, a smile creeping onto my face. “The way he looks at me. It’s like he truly sees me.”

She squeezed my shoulder affectionately. “Because he does.”

We lingered in that moment, breathing together in a shared silence.

Then, with a playful determination, Mom picked up a makeup brush. “Now,” she said, clearing her throat, “I may not be Mariah, but I do know a few tricks.”

I chuckled softly, the tension easing. “You sure about that?”

“Hey,” she replied, mock-offended, “I was young once, you know.”

“Debatable,” I teased back.

With a light swat to my arm, she smiled, and the atmosphere shifted—lighter, gentler.

“This color will really bring out your eyes,” she murmured, her voice warm.

“You always say that,” I replied, a smile tugging at my lips.

“Because it’s always true,” she said with a wink.

As she applied the makeup, it felt less like an attempt to change me and more like a way to enhance what was already there. When she curled my lashes, her hands were steady, filled with an unspoken confidence.

“You know,” she said casually, “confidence doesn’t appear all at once. It sneaks in, little by little.”

I studied my reflection intently. I didn’t look like someone else.

I looked like… me. Just a bit brighter.

“I think,” I said slowly, “I’m starting to believe that maybe… I’m not as bad as I thought.”

Her smile softened, pride radiating from her. “That’s a significant step.”

“It still feels strange,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Like I’m just waiting for someone to point and laugh.”

She turned me gently toward her, her expression serious. “If someone does, you walk away. You don’t shrink. You don’t apologize for existing.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of her words.

“And if you forget that,” she added, “you call me. Or Mariah. Or Noah.”

My heart tightened at the mention of his name.

“He’s… helped,” I confessed quietly. “A lot.”

Mom smiled knowingly, a glimmer of approval in her eyes. “Good boys tend to do that.”

She finished styling my hair, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

“There,” she declared proudly. “My beautiful daughter.”

I stood up, smoothing my dress over my hips, my heart racing in anticipation.

For the very first time, when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t immediately search for flaws.

I saw someone nervous.

Someone hopeful.

Someone who was slowly learning that perhaps she deserved to feel beautiful.

Mom wrapped her arms around me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder, a comforting presence.

“You don’t have to have it all figured out tonight,” she whispered. “Just enjoy being seen.”

I smiled at our reflection, feeling a warmth spread through me.

“I think,” I said softly, “I’m starting to.”

Just as I began to feel steady again, we heard it.

Voices.

Low. Male. Familiar.

Mom paused in her motion, her hands still resting lightly on my shoulders. We both turned toward the door.

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