We’ve all got these tiny openings in our skin for releasing sweat and oil,

We’ve all got these tiny openings in our skin for releasing sweat and oil,

but for some people, they can be more temperamental than others.

Or, rather, clogged pores happen more often to some of us.. 

They-they were taken before the accident,” I whispered, the memory painful. I lost my ability to walk two years ago in an accident that took my parents away.

“Nice try to get my pity,” Alan mocked me, his words cutting deep.

“I’m not asking for pity,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “I’m learning to accept myself again. I deserve a second chance at life. Just like everyone else.”

“You can’t accept your disability, but I should? I wanted a proper date, not someone… in a wheelchair!” he retorted harshly.

Alan’s cruel words stung, but I remained hopeful he’d understand. “I was scared you wouldn’t want to meet me if you knew,” I admitted.

“You’re right,” he scoffed. “I wouldn’t have even thought of coming here. I wanted to go on a date with someone normal, not… defective!”

His dismissal was a painful blow, but his calling me ‘defective’ ignited a fire within me.

“You didn’t mention the wheelchair even in your bio!” he growled, his eyes again on his phone.

Alan seemed so different in person, not the guy who’d impressed me with his poems and romantic talk on Tinder. He used to tell me I was beautiful. Maybe he had fallen for just my beautiful face. Maybe he wasn’t prepared to see me like this.

It wasn’t all his fault. I should’ve told him earlier. But I was scared. As I mentioned, I was still learning to accept myself.

“This entire weekend is ruined by your deception!” Alan erupted, snapping me to the moment. “You call yourself normal? You’re half a person at best!”

His words stung, but I stood my ground. “I am normal! Being in a wheelchair doesn’t make me defective,” I declared.

“You know what? Find someone as ‘defective’ as you,” he sneered, turning around when a waiter approached our table.

Alan’s anger peaked as he bumped into the waiter, who announced a surprise dinner for us, celebrating us (table 13th) as the 10,000th guest and bringing a cake.

“Great, table 13! I’d only heard it so far, but now I know for sure it brings bad luck,” Alan sneered, but I chose to embrace the moment. So what if I couldn’t go on a date with Alan? I could still enjoy the cake! I could still pretend I was… happy.