Before the Change: The Stories We Don’t See

We often meet people halfway through their stories — scarred, guarded, different from who they used to be. And in that incomplete picture, we forget:

Ice was once water.

Anger was once love.

The devil was once an angel.

The overthinker was once carefree.

The depressed one was once the life of the party.

The introvert was once the loudest in the room.

She wasn’t always distant.

The girl who now shuts herself off with headphones and hides behind her hood used to be someone who danced barefoot in the rain. She used to laugh loudly without checking who was watching, post selfies with goofy filters, and talk to strangers like they were old friends. But it took one betrayal — just one — to make her question if joy was ever real or just an illusion. Now, people call her ‘reserved’. But they don’t know she’s just protecting the version of herself that was once too open, too trusting, and too hurt.

He wasn’t always this angry.

You see him now — sharp tone, cold eyes, always ready to snap. But years ago, he used to write poems and love letters he never sent. He cared too much, gave too often, and loved without calculations. And every time he did, he was met with silence, manipulation, or indifference. One day, he stopped. He turned all that love inward — not as healing, but as fire. That’s the man you meet today. Angry, distant, untouchable. But beneath it all, there’s just a boy who loved too hard and lost himself trying to be enough.

She wasn’t always quiet.

In school, she was the one hosting lunch table games, telling jokes, and narrating full-blown dramas like a stand-up act. Her phone never stopped buzzing. But then came the phase where people laughed at her, not with her. She was told she was “too much,” “too loud,” “too needy.” Slowly, she learned silence. Not peace — silence. Now, she’s the introvert in the corner, replying to texts a day late, if at all. And people admire her “maturity” — not knowing it’s just leftover shame.

He wasn’t always a thinker.

He used to live on impulse — pack a bag and travel, try new things without checking reviews, say “yes” just to see where it led. But then came consequences. One wrong friend. One broken trust. One decision that took years to recover from. And so he learned to think — deeply, constantly, often too much. Now, they say he overthinks. But they don’t realize he once under-thought and paid the price with pieces of himself.

The devil? He once saved someone.

He once held someone’s world together while his own was crumbling. He once chose to forgive when everyone told him to walk away. But kindness without boundaries made him a target. And people mistook softness for weakness, loyalty for foolishness. So he became the villain. Because somewhere along the way, he realized that being good didn’t guarantee good outcomes. And if he had to burn to survive, then so be it.

And the ice? It melted too many times.

Each time she let her guard down, someone took a piece of her. So she turned cold. Not cruel — just protective. Cold, because warmth cost her too much. Cold, because no one ever stayed long enough to appreciate her fire. Now she’s ice. Still beautiful, still reflective, still water underneath. But frozen, by choice.

We’re all made of ‘once’.

Once fearless.

Once free.

Once full of dreams and reckless hope.

So the next time someone seems off, too cold, too closed, too complex — try remembering:

They’re not broken.

They’re just rewritten by life.

Somewhere inside, they’re still that person.

Just hidden beneath everything they had to survive.