Ronnabelle Lora

Just Annie | Pages: Short Story | Fiction

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<div style="text-align:center"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/177700354308501.jpg" style="width:960px" class="fr-fic fr-dib" width="960" alt="The Fat Girl | Pages: Short Story | Fiction"/></div><div><br/></div><p>Annie had perfected the art of laughing at herself. </p><p>“Uy Annie, ilang rice na ‘yan?” someone would call out from across the pantry. </p><p>“Tatlo pa lang—nagpipigil ako,” she’d reply, raising her lunchbox like a trophy as laughter rippled through the room. </p><p>They loved her for it. The way she leaned into every joke before anyone else could. The way she made it easy. The way she never made things uncomfortable. </p><div><br/></div><div><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/177700356254602.jpg" style="width:960px" class="fr-fic fr-dib" width="960" alt="The Fat Girl | Pages: Short Story | Fiction"/></div><div><br/></div><p>What they didn’t see was how, later at her desk, she would quietly sip water instead of finishing her food. Or how she avoided mirrors on particularly loud days. Or how she had trained herself to swallow hurt so efficiently it barely left a trace on her face. </p><p>Because showing that it hurts? That would be worse. That would mean she wasn’t “Annie”— the jolly one, the easy one, the one everyone could like without trying. And Annie needed to be liked. </p><div><br/></div><div><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/177700358158603.jpg" style="width:960px" class="fr-fic fr-dib" width="960" alt="The Fat Girl | Pages: Short Story | Fiction"/></div><div><br/></div><p>Joshua noticed her before he meant to. It was her laugh—not the loud kind, but the kind that arrived half a second too early, like she was trying to protect something. He had just come out of a relationship that looked perfect from the outside. His ex was beautiful in the way people noticed immediately—sharp, striking, impossible to ignore. She also knew it. </p><p>Every dinner had been a negotiation of attention. Every disagreement became a performance. Every silence turned to a weapon. So when he saw Annie—soft around the edges, quick to laugh, unassuming—it felt like relief. </p><p>“Maybe someone like her,” he thought, watching her tease a colleague back “is what I need.” Safe. Simple. Kind. He didn’t realize how unfair that was. </p><div style="text-align:center"><br/></div><div style="text-align:center"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/177700359794304.jpg" style="width:960px" class="fr-fic fr-dib" width="960" alt="The Fat Girl | Pages: Short Story | Fiction"/></div><div style="text-align:center"><br/></div><p>It started with small conversations. A shared elevator ride, a joke about the office coffee tasting like regret, a random comment about a movie that turned into a ten-minute discussion. </p><p>Annie didn’t know what to do with it at first. It was Joshua— the Joshua. The one everyone watched walk into a room. The one people lowered their voices around. Talking to her. She told herself not to think too much of it. So she did what she always did—she stayed funny, light, easy. </p><div><br/></div><div><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/177700361100505.jpg" style="width:960px" class="fr-fic fr-dib" width="960" alt="The Fat Girl | Pages: Short Story | Fiction"/></div><div><br/></div><p>“Careful,” she told him once, grinning. “Baka isipin nila charity work ‘to.” </p><p>Joshua laughed. “Or maybe I just like talking to you.” Her chest tightened, but she shrugged it off. “Sure ka?” He was. Or at least, he thought he was.  </p><p>They began having lunch together. At first, people teased casually. “Uy, Joshua ah!” </p><p>“Annie, upgrade!” She laughed along, of course. “Intern lang ‘yan, practice.” But the jokes changed. </p><p>“Trip mo ba talaga ‘yan, bro?” someone told Joshua one afternoon. “Or phase lang?” </p><p>“Rebound lang ‘yan,” another added. “Safe choice.” Joshua brushed it off, but the words stayed. Safe choice. Annie heard things too. </p><p>“Mag-ingat ka,” her friend Liza whispered one day. “Baka laro lang ‘yan.” </p><p>Annie forced a smile. “Okay lang. At least interesting.” But that night, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Why me? The question echoed louder in silence. </p><p>She doubled down after that. More jokes. More self-deprecation. She put in more effort to be the girl who didn’t need reassurance. Because needing it would mean she was already losing. </p><div><br/></div><div><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/177700362362506.jpg" style="width:960px" class="fr-fic fr-dib" width="960" alt="The Fat Girl | Pages: Short Story | Fiction"/></div><div><br/></div><p>The breaking point came on a Friday night. The office had gathered for a team celebration at a rooftop bar. Music played softly, drinks flowed, and laughter filled the air.  Annie was in the middle of a story when someone cut in.</p><p>“Annie, ikaw na lang mag-host ng eating contest natin ah,” a colleague joked loudly. “Panalo ka agad!” The group burst into laughter.  </p><div><br/></div><div><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/177700363488407.jpg" style="width:960px" class="fr-fic fr-dib" width="960" alt="The Fat Girl | Pages: Short Story | Fiction"/></div><div><br/></div><p>Instinct kicked in. “Of course,” Annie said, raising her glass. “Representing!” More laughter. She turned—just slightly—and saw Joshua. Laughing too. Not loudly. Not cruelly. But laughing. And somehow, that hurt the most. She didn’t cry that night. She didn’t confront anyone. She just… stopped. </p><p>The next day, she skipped lunch with Joshua. The day after, she kept conversations short. The week after, she no longer made jokes at her own expense. </p><p>People noticed. “Uy, tahimik mo na,” someone said. Annie smiled politely. “Pagod lang.” But something had shifted. The next time someone joked— </p><p>“Diet ka na, Annie!” She didn’t laugh. She looked at them calmly and said, “I know you think it’s funny, but it’s not for me.” </p><div><br/></div><div><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/177700365950408.jpg" style="width:960px" class="fr-fic fr-dib" width="960" alt="The Fat Girl | Pages: Short Story | Fiction"/></div><div><br/></div><p>Silence. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But it was new. And it was powerful.  </p><p>Joshua felt the distance like a missing limb. He replayed that night over and over. The joke. Her smile. His laughter. He had told himself it was harmless. It was easier to go along than make things awkward. But now he saw it differently. He hadn’t protected her. Worse—he hadn’t seen her. Not really. </p><p>He thought of all the times he chose Annie because she was easy and she didn’t demand a lot. Because she didn’t challenge him the way his ex did. And the realization hit him hard: </p><p>“I didn’t choose her for who she is. I chose her because she was easier to love.” </p><div><br/></div><div><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/177700368922309.jpg" style="width:960px" class="fr-fic fr-dib" width="960" alt="The Fat Girl | Pages: Short Story | Fiction"/></div><div> </div><p>He found her in the pantry one afternoon. “Can we talk?” he asked. Annie looked at him—steady, composed. “Okay.” No jokes. No deflection. Just Annie. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Joshua said. “For that night. For… a lot of things.” She nodded, but didn’t respond. </p><p>“I realized I haven’t been fair to you,” he continued. “I thought I was choosing something real. But I wasn’t really seeing you. I was… reacting to my past.” </p><p>Annie folded her arms gently. “Do you see me now?” she asked. The question landed heavier than anything he’d heard. Joshua swallowed. </p><p>“I’m trying,” he said, meeting her eyes. “And what I see now is this—you’ve been strong in very specific ways I ignored. You show up every day even when people make jokes at your expense. You make others comfortable, even when you’re the one hurting. And instead of recognizing that, I treated you like you were just… easy to be with. Like you didn’t need protecting, or choosing properly.” </p><p>He paused, and then added more firmly, “You deserved someone who would stand beside you when it mattered. You deserved someone who wouldn’t laugh along just to keep things smooth. I didn’t do that. And that’s on me.” </p><p>Silence stretched between them. Annie looked down briefly, and then back at him. </p><p>“I’m not pretending anymore,” she said. “Not for anyone.” </p><p>“I don’t want you to,” he replied. Things didn’t fix overnight. </p><p>Joshua didn’t suddenly become perfect. Annie didn’t suddenly trust him completely. But something had changed.</p><p>Joshua began speaking up—quietly, firmly—when jokes crossed the line. Not for show, not for points, but because he meant it. And Annie? She no longer needed to be the easiest person in the room. She laughed when things were truly funny. She spoke when things weren’t. She took up space. </p><div style="text-align:center"><br/></div><div style="text-align:center"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/177700370778510.jpg" style="width:960px" class="fr-fic fr-dib" width="960" alt="The Fat Girl | Pages: Short Story | Fiction"/></div><div style="text-align:center"><br/></div><p>Weeks later, they found themselves walking out of the office together. No teasing, no noise, just the soft hum of the evening accompanying them.  </p><p>Joshua glanced at her. “I didn’t see you clearly before,” he said.</p><p>Annie raised an eyebrow. “And now?” He smiled—not the confident one everyone knew, but something softer.</p><p>“Now I see someone who never needed to shrink,” he said. “Just someone who got tired of pretending she wasn’t hurt.” Annie held his gaze. </p><p>For the first time, she didn’t feel the need to joke. “Good,” she said quietly. “Because I’m not shrinking anymore.”</p><p>Joshua nodded. And this time, when he walked beside her, it wasn’t because she was easy. It was because she was real. And finally— So was he.</p><div><br/></div><div><em><br/></em></div><div><em>* Images enhanced using AI filters</em></div><div><em>* All characters and events in this work are fictional. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or actual entities is unintentional and coincidental.</em><u></u><br/></div>

<p>Pages: Annie, who has long masked her hurt with humor, slowly reclaims her self-worth after realizing she deserves to be seen, respected, and taken seriously beyond the jokes people make about her.</p>

Pages: Annie, who has long masked her hurt with humor, slowly reclaims her self-worth after realizing she deserves to be seen, respected, and taken seriously beyond the jokes people make about her.

Just Annie | Pages: Short Story | Fiction

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Just Annie | Pages: Short Story | Fiction

Precious Maya

Published May 08, 2026 12:00 PM PHT

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Updated May 08, 2026 06:59 PM PHT

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