I am the villain in my story.

And no, I don’t mind being called one.

Villains are not born—they are built. Brick by brick.
Silence by silence.
Love taken away and given to someone else like it never belonged to us in the first place.
I didn’t wake up one day and decide to be cruel.
I learned it.
I learned it from being overlooked.
From being replaced.
From being told—without words—that I mattered less.
So yes, I became bitter.
Yes, I became sharp.
Yes, I hurt people before they could hurt me.
That was survival.
Call me heartless if you want.
But hearts don’t turn cold without being burned first.
Heroes are allowed to cry.
Villains are expected to endure.
And while the world applauds kindness, it forgets to ask why someone stopped being kind.
Because villains?
They hurt too.
Sometimes more than the heroes who were loved enough to stay soft.
This is not a redemption story.
This is not a plea for sympathy.
This is the story of a girl who became the villain—
because she had no other way to survive.
And this…
this is my story.