The Girl No One Loved

My name is Loveth Pitus. I am not beautiful.

Yes, I am not. I know it. Not just because people say it, but because the mirror doesn't lie. Every time I stare at my reflection, I see it clearly, the rough edges of my face, the uneven tone of my skin, the tired eyes that never quite shine. I try to find something special in the reflection, something worth calling pretty, but I never find it.

Maybe it's because I'm a witch. But that's just a guess. Some witches are very beautiful, graceful, glowing, captivating. I've seen them in old books, heard stories passed down through whispers and charms. If beauty came with witchcraft, then mine must have skipped that part.

Still, my father, Matip, and my mother, Irene, say I'm beautiful. My mother especially says it with so much love that sometimes I almost believe her. She strokes my face and smiles, her voice soft, saying, "You're my beautiful girl." It gives me courage, even if it's temporary. Because deep down, I know they don't see what the world sees. And they don't know who I really am.

They don't know I'm a witch.

I discovered it myself. Slowly. Quietly. Like a secret unfolding in shadows. But this story isn't about my powers, not yet. It's about how I felt before any of that mattered. It's about being the girl no one loved.

University life was like a mirror too, one that reflected my loneliness more than my looks. Everywhere I turned, girls were in relationships. Hands were held, kisses exchanged, gifts passed in brown envelopes and glittering wrappers. There were parties, love notes, and text captions with hearts. And then there was me, alone.

No one looked at me the way they looked at others. I wore clothes that fit, made my hair neat, even put on light makeup sometimes. But it didn't change anything. Boys didn't come close. And the few that did? They were like me. Unnoticed, unwanted. Some were worse. Rude, rough, broken by rejection and angry at the world. I didn't like them.

And yet, I can't lie. I'm not completely without charm. I know what I have. My curves don't lie. My body is shaped in a way that makes people stare, even when they don't want to. My ass is full, round, and bounces when I walk. My breasts are firm, sitting high on my chest like they were made to defy gravity. Those were the parts of me that earned glances, the only things that made heads turn.

But those looks never came with love.

They came with lust. With hunger. With those unsettling stares that peel your clothes off without touching you. It was never affection. It was never sweet.

I turned nineteen a virgin. Not because I was trying to save myself. Not because of religion or purity. I just couldn't fall in love. There was no spark. No butterflies. No one worth the risk. No one whose touch I longed for. No one who made me feel like I belonged.

And when I thought of love, I wanted it to be different. I didn't want to settle. I didn't want to say yes to the first boy who asked, just to feel like the other girls. I wanted magic, no pun intended. I wanted something that would make me forget I was the girl everyone overlooked.

So I studied. Books became my comfort. Classrooms became my world. While others posted about dates and anniversaries, I wrote notes, solved equations, and perfected my grades. It gave me a sense of purpose. It was the one place where I didn't feel behind.

Sometimes, I wondered if I'd ever feel anything real. If love was in my cards. If someone would ever see me, truly see me, and choose me. Not for my curves. Not for my family name. But for me, Loveth, the quiet girl with a storm hidden inside.

But life is cruel like that. It doesn't give you what you want when you want it. It gives you what you fear. 

The only real praise I ever got in school wasn't for beauty or charm, it was during exams. That was when people looked at me differently. Not with admiration for my looks, but with something close to respect, maybe envy. I was the girl who never failed a question. No one could explain how I managed it. Even I wasn't sure. Sometimes, I studied. Sometimes, I didn't. But answers always came, clear and certain, as though whispered to me by something deep and unseen.

Maybe it wasn't just my brain. Maybe I used a little of what I had: witchcraft. Not always, but sometimes. In moments of doubt, when my mind blanked out, I'd close my eyes and silently call to my gift. And like a gentle breeze slipping through an open window, the answer would float into my mind. I knew it was wrong, at least by ordinary standards, but who could understand what it meant to have powers and be forbidden to use them?

My grandmother Menila, the one who passed it all down to me, had warned me never to use my powers carelessly. "Except in danger," she'd said, her wrinkled fingers trembling around mine. "That is when magic must defend. Not for pride. Not for praise. Not for vanity." But I was young. And in the quiet corners of a crowded exam hall, what counted as danger could sometimes be a fear of failure. A different kind of harm.

But passing exams didn't make me happy. It didn't stop the ache I felt at night. Loneliness wasn't something I talked about, but it lived inside me. I wanted to fall in love. I wanted someone who'd see me, truly see me, and still want to stay. Not out of pity or obligation. I used to lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it felt like to be held by someone you loved. Not touched for pleasure or lust, but held with care. With warmth. With meaning.

I envied girls who could flirt with their eyes and pull attention like magnets. They wore beauty like armor, like perfume. They entered a room and turned heads. I entered a room and sank into the shadows. Even when I dressed up, even when I tried, it never felt like enough.

One day, my two friends, Dora and Flenra, convinced me to go to a nightclub with them. I didn't want to. I didn't like crowds or flashing lights or sweaty bodies grinding to music. But they insisted. Said I needed to "loosen up," that I couldn't spend every night locked in my thoughts or buried in books.

I said yes. Maybe I was curious. Maybe I just didn't want to be alone that night.

We got dressed in the dorm. Dora wore something tight and red. Flenra wore black with glittering eyeshadow. I wore a gown that clung to my body in a way I wasn't used to. It showed my curves, my only source of confidence. My breasts sat strong and proud, and my hips swayed naturally. I had that, at least. Maybe someone would look.

We arrived, and the music hit like thunder. Lights spun like spells, hypnotic and dizzying. Dora and Flenra danced almost immediately, laughing and twirling into the crowd. I stood by the edge of the room, nursing a drink I didn't like and faking smiles I didn't feel.

No one approached me.

Men walked past. Some looked, but none stopped. I tried to hold my posture, tried to look relaxed, but inside I was shrinking. Folding in on myself. The music was too loud. The lights too bright. And yet, I felt invisible. Like a ghost in a room full of life.

Jealousy stabbed me, not at Dora or Flenra, but at how easy it all seemed for others. How do you become someone people want to talk to? How do you not feel like you're always begging to be seen?

A tall guy walked toward me at one point. My heart jumped, stupidly hopeful. But he brushed past me like I was the air. He went for the girl beside me, whispered something that made her giggle. She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the dance floor.

I sat down.

Tears threatened, but I blinked them back. No one wants to see a girl crying in a club. Not even the walls would notice.

That's when it happened, the feeling. That tingling under my skin. That rising pulse of power. The part of me that wasn't just Loveth but something older, deeper, darker. I could feel the magic swelling inside me, begging for release.

Just a flick of the wrist and I could stop the music. Crash the speakers. Freeze the DJ in place. Make the entire club go dark, cold, silent. I imagined the panic. I imagined everyone running, screaming, and only I would remain, calm in the chaos. Not because I was feared, but because I had control.

But Menila's voice returned, soft but stern in my memory. "Except in danger."

This wasn't danger. This was pain, but not danger. This was heartbreak in slow motion, not a knife to the throat.

I clenched my fist, forcing the power down. It retreated, sulking.

I didn't wait for Dora or Flenra. I left early, caught a taxi back to campus, and walked straight to my room. That night, I sat on my bed, took off my shoes, and stared at the wall for a long time.

Then I made a promise, to myself and to whatever force in the universe cared to listen.

I would never step foot in a nightclub again.

Not because of shame. But because I deserved to be somewhere I mattered.

And maybe, just maybe, I'd find that place in a world where love wasn't measured by beauty, and power wasn't the only thing that made you worthy.