The Price of a Smile

The Price of a Smile

Genre: Poetic Fiction / Social Commentary

She was taught how to smile before she knew how to speak.

“Smile when guests come.”

“Smile in your school photo.”

“Smile, even if you're tired — you're the face of the family.”

And so she did.

By the time Anaya turned twelve, she had mastered every kind of smile:

The polite smile for elders.

The apologetic smile for strangers.

The grateful smile when given less than she deserved.

The “I’m okay” smile when she wasn’t.

She wore them like jewelry, like armor.

Her teachers called her “well-mannered.”

The boys in her class said she had “such a nice face.”

The neighbors called her “a good girl — always cheerful.”

No one asked if her smiles were real.

At nineteen, Anaya worked behind a customer service desk, fielding complaints, insults, and accusations — always with her corporate smile: flat, professional, practiced. A woman once threw a receipt at her face. Anaya smiled. A man said, “You’d be prettier if you smiled more naturally.” Anaya smiled. Her manager later praised her for her patience.

"Your smile calms people down," he said.

But inside, her jaw ached. Her cheeks were tired. Her throat held all the things she wanted to scream.

Anaya smiled at her father when he said, “Don’t stay out too late. It looks bad for girls.”

She smiled at her aunt when she said, “You’re not married yet? Tch. Smile, beta. Someone will notice you if you smile more!”

She smiled at her cousin’s wedding, where no one asked her if she ever wanted one.

She smiled at the mirror when she felt invisible.

She smiled in every photo, and no one ever noticed her eyes.

Because no one looks at a woman’s eyes when her mouth is smiling.

She wrote poems at night.

Lines that bled the truth.

They taught me to smile before they taught me to say no.

Now my yes is a performance.

And my no is a crime.

Her notebook was her only place of honesty — the only place she could frown without judgment.

Until one day, she snapped.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud.

It was a Tuesday.

A man cut in line, then shouted at her when she asked him to wait. “Don’t be rude,” he said. “Just smile and do your job.”

She didn’t.

Her lips stayed still. Her eyes stayed steady. Her silence felt louder than her usual “Yes sir.”

That night, she went home and washed her face like she was scrubbing off centuries.

She looked at herself in the mirror and didn’t smile.

And for the first time in years, she looked real.

Anaya began small. At first, she only smiled when she meant it.

Then she started frowning when she felt sad.

Then came the hardest part — not explaining why.

When her mother asked, “What’s wrong, beta?” she simply said, “Nothing I need to fix right now.”

When a stranger told her to smile, she replied, “Maybe you should try frowning.”

She began to notice things.

How often women apologized before speaking.

How often they smiled while rejecting someone, afraid of the consequences.

How they laughed off comments that hurt.

How their smiles were masks that protected — and imprisoned.

She wasn’t alone.

Her friend Zara admitted she’d been smiling through panic attacks at work.

Her coworker, Mei, confessed she wore lipstick just to distract from her trembling lips.

Even her own mother said, “I used to cry in the shower. Then come out and make tea with a smile.”

So Anaya wrote something new. Not just poems.

A letter. To her younger self.

Dear girl with the tired smile,

You do not owe anyone your joy.

You do not have to turn your pain into politeness.

You do not need to decorate your boundaries with dimples.

You are allowed to be quiet. Firm. Angry. Still.

And yes, even ugly.

Because you are not made of smiles. You are made of storms and stories.

Smile when you want.

Not when they want.

She printed it. Posted it anonymously on a café bulletin board.

Then another, in the women’s restroom of her office.

Then another, inside the changing room of a store.

Weeks passed.

One day, she walked into the restroom and saw a reply scribbled under her letter:

“Thank you. I didn’t smile today. It felt strange… but true.”

And she smiled.

Not out of duty.

Not out of fear.

But because she chose to.

And that, she realized, was the price of a real smile.

Not perfection.

Not obedience.

Just freedom.