PANYA BISHARA: START
On anyone else, sheer gold glitter tights might’ve been a bold choice, a look reserved for special occasions and not one decided upon lightly. For Panya Bishara, however, it was almost a wardrobe staple – something she turned to whenever she wanted to turn heads or acquire a second glance from whomever she passed.
Truthfully, Panya possessed that desire more often than not.
But as much as she adored these tights, she’d learned early on that even the most outrageous garment grew dull and predictable through repetition, and so made a concerted effort to wear them as sparingly as possible. Always impatient for the next perfect moment to arise wherein they’d hold the most impact and catch everyone off-guard, she was giddy with excitement when she’d plucked them from her dresser that morning and made them the star of her ensemble for the day. Paired with a brightly-patterned head wrap and ruby red minidress that hugged her in all the right places, Panya had left the house that morning confident that all eyes would be on her.
So why was she being faced with the exact opposite?
She’d opted to spend her free period outside, near one of the benches scattered throughout the courtyard. The weather wasn’t the best – stony grey clouds were hovering on the horizon and the occasional gust of wind was proving more than a little chilly – but she couldn’t think of anything less appealing than being holed up in an empty classroom. A few of her peers were milling about, and she was certain her glamorous self would be a bright ray of sunshine in an otherwise dreary day. Despite that, the most she’d gotten from passers-by had been little more than a cursory glance. Her mood had been positively radiant that morning, the demure smile she perpetually held much less artificial than usual. But as the minutes rolled on by and her mood tumbled downwards, her facial muscles became even more strained with effort.
To pass the time before the inevitable stream of sycophancy, she decided to give any potential onlookers an impromptu runway, circling her table and hoping it’d be enough to entice somebody into her company. She flicked a loose tendril of hair over her shoulder and pouted her lips, making sure to put a little swing in her hips as she walked. It really shouldn’t be this difficult to get a simple compliment.
Did they not know who she was?