Apple Store

The hum of conversation in the Apple Store was oddly soothing, a blend of people asking about devices, the click of keyboards, and the excited chatter of customers eager to test out the latest technology. Mike and I had stopped by to check out the newest iPhone release, and I was practically bouncing with excitement. Even as Heather, my love for tech hadn't changed. I knew all about specs, upgrades, and features, and I couldn't wait to see this new phone in action.

Mike stood beside me, looking effortlessly cool in his athletic hoodie and worn jeans. I, on the other hand, was dressed in a soft pink cardigan, my hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. We must have made an odd pair, but that didn't matter. We were here to geek out over phones.

A salesclerk approached us, a tall, clean-cut guy in a crisp blue shirt. He flashed us a professional smile, but when he spoke, he directed every word to Mike.

"Hey there, man. Looking to upgrade?" the clerk asked, nodding toward the display models. "We've got some great options for you."

Mike glanced at me, unsure, but before he could speak, the clerk was already guiding him toward the latest iPhones, enthusiastically launching into a spiel about features. I stood there, waiting for a moment when I could jump in, but the clerk didn't even acknowledge me. It was as if I was invisible, except for the moment he turned and addressed me about something entirely irrelevant.

"And we have some cute phone cases over here for your girlfriend," the clerk said, his smile kind but patronizing. "Perfect if you want to match your outfit, you know?"

I felt my cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Cute phone cases? Outfit matching? My mind raced. I knew more about these phones than Mike ever would, but the clerk had assumed that, as a girl, I couldn't possibly care about anything more complicated than accessorizing my device.

Before I could speak, Mike stepped in, completely missing the tension. "Don't worry, baby," he said, turning to me with a smile that was meant to be reassuring but only made things worse. He reached out, lightly brushing his fingers under my chin in a gesture that felt both tender and patronizing. "I'll handle the details. I know what you need."

His words, combined with the way he touched me, sent a wave of frustration through my body. It wasn't just the clerk who had underestimated me; Mike had, too. He probably thought he was being chivalrous, protective even, but all it did was make me feel small and powerless.

"No," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. Both the clerk and Mike looked at me, surprised. I took a breath, steadying myself. "Actually, I'd like to know more about the camera specs and the processor speed," I said, crossing my arms and meeting the clerk's eyes. "Can you tell me how it compares to the previous model in terms of performance?"

The clerk blinked, clearly taken aback, and Mike's expression shifted from surprise to something like embarrassment. The clerk stammered for a moment before recovering and launching into an explanation. As he spoke, I could feel the weight of Mike's gaze on me, but I refused to look at him. I had spent too much time being dismissed, underestimated, and treated like I was incapable.

When the clerk finally finished, I nodded, satisfied, and turned back to Mike. His face was a mix of confusion and guilt, and I wondered if he finally realized how his earlier comment had made me feel.

"Sorry," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to... you know."

I softened, feeling a pang of guilt myself. Mike wasn't trying to be mean. He was just clueless, caught up in old-school ideas about girls and gadgets. But the whole experience had taught me something important: as Heather, I had to fight harder to be seen, to be respected. And I wasn't going to let anyone—not even Mike—make me feel less than I was.