Phoenix Dance of the Shattered Swan

No classes on Wednesday afternoon—I was curled up at my dorm desk, organizing my dance rehabilitation journal. The succulents on the windowsill basked in the sunlight, their leaves plump and glossy, just like the fragile calm I've fought to keep these past three years. My phone vibrated; it was my roommate sending a link to the Campus Bulletin Board with a note: "This post is kind of ridiculous, you should see it." My fingertips swiped across the screen, tapping open that anonymous post marked "Hot." The title grabbed my attention: "All Tea, All Shade: Former Campus Heartthrob, Tyler Chester's Fairy-tale Romance —Exes, Stay in Your Lane." The post said: "Former campus heartthrob Tyler Chester and his new girlfriend Harper Nair are super sweet. I heard the ex, out of jealousy, deliberately staged a car accident to ruin Harper but ended up accidentally suffering an amputation herself. And she's still not over it, secretly poking around Tyler..." "Amputation," "car accident," "Tyler Chester," "Harper Nair" — these words stabbed sharply into my chest all at once. My hand holding the phone began to tremble as I looked down at my left leg. The dark gray prosthetic limb was covered by my pant leg; I always wore loose pants to hide it, like I was hiding the nightmare from three years ago. On a rainy night three years ago, I was riding my electric bike to deliver documents to Tyler when Harper suddenly drove at me, shouting, "You don't deserve to be with Tyler." I fell with both bike and body by the roadside, my left leg crushed under the wheel. Later, the doctors said the nerves and bones were shattered, and amputation was the only option. Back then, I was still the top student in the dance department, the lead candidate for Odile; everyone said I was destined to stand on the biggest stages. But now, I have to rely on a prosthetic limb just to walk normally, let alone dance. There are already hundreds of comments flooding under the post. Someone said, "Oh my god, this ex-girlfriend is just too vicious!" Another chimed in, "Good thing the campus heartthrob saw through her in time and got together with Harper. Harper's beautiful and kind—she even donated money recently." Someone else tagged Tyler: "Tyler, run! Get away from that psycho!" My throat tightened as I read those twisted lies. After the car accident, Harper cried and told Tyler it was my running the red light that caused the crash, and even claimed I staged it out of jealousy over how close she was with Tyler. Back then, Tyler had just started his business and was swamped. On top of that, Harper brought forward so-called "witnesses" she'd paid for, and he actually believed her. I lay on the hospital bed, my left leg empty, hearing Tyler say, "Florence, how can you be so unreasonable?" and it hurt my heart more than my leg. Later, I moved out of the apartment I shared with him, switched my major from Dance to Traditional Literature, and never contacted him again. I thought that after three years, everything would fade, but this post has ripped open my scars and left them exposed under the harsh sunlight, trampled by everyone. My phone kept lighting up with new comments. I abruptly turned off the screen and leaned back in my chair, taking a deep breath. The sun outside slowly slipped behind the clouds, dimming the light—just like how I feel right now. I know this post won't just disappear quietly. Tyler and Harper will see it sooner or later, and those stirred-up memories will come knocking soon enough. I picked up the Rehabilitation Journal from the table and opened it to the first page, where I had written: "Calmness is the best armor." But now, it feels like this armor is about to shatter.