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[Pixabay](https://pixabay.com/photos/search/attractive/)
She entered the room as if she owned it—hair bouncing, heels clicking, and eyes searching for attention. And sure enough, they gave it to her. Compliments poured out, people turned their heads, and someone even whistled softly. I stood in the corner, watching the performance with a faint grin on my face.
With no question, she look so lovely. She possessed the appearance, and sophisticated presence. But as the talks swirled around her, I had a silent thought: she's not as attractive as me.
Because being cute is not about perfection. It's in the manner I grin without covering my mouth, speak with my hands, and get thrilled over the little things. It's the freckles on my cheeks, the persistent curl that refuses to lay flat, the manner I stumble and yet continue walking as if it were all part of the strategy.
She had flair. However, I'm charming. Real charm. The kind that doesn't plead for attention—it attracts it. Naturally.
And she? She isn't as attractive as me.