Fallen Fawn

~Threads of Change~ (2)

Astël Barlowe

       A rush of cool air hit my face as I walked into the boutique. It was tastefully decorated—colorful and classy. Flowers were placed wherever they could fit, which made me smile from ear to ear. I walked forward into one of the little sections of the store with some racks near the front. The lighting was low and warm, complementing the dark wood showcased in the decor.

Could this place be more charming?

I sifted through the clothes on the rack in front of me aimlessly. The soft fabric slipped through my fingers—cashmere, silk, and lace—none of it familiar, none of it mine. The colors and styles all felt foreign, nothing like the plain blue dress I'd worn for years. Everything was more revealing than I expected—low necklines, high hemlines, tight fits. My heart started to race.

Do people actually wear these?

I picked up a top, holding it up with an awkward smile. It was delicate and sheer. I couldn't picture myself in it, but maybe that was the point. I was supposed to be someone else now, right? Someone new. But as I stared at the unfamiliar designs, the weight of my uncertainty made my chest tighten.

Would any of these make me fit in? My chest tightened as I glanced at the other shoppers, all of them so sure of themselves. I felt smaller with each passing second. I didn't belong here. A lump formed in my throat as I hung the top back on the rack, my fingers trembling. The room felt smaller; the warm lighting now closed in on me. I glanced around again at the other women browsing, confident in their choices, casually flipping through clothes like they belonged here, like it was second nature.

I was nothing like them.

I grabbed another piece at random—a red dress with a deep neckline and cutouts on the sides, far bolder than anything I'd ever worn. I swallowed hard, trying to imagine myself in it. The thought made my skin flush, my palms sweat. No... there's no way.

I shoved the dress back onto the rack, my fingers fumbling over the hangers. My pulse thudded in my ears now. This wasn't me. I was drowning in the choices, in the newness of it all. The voices of the women around me were just a blur, my mind spinning.

I wanted to leave. But where would I even go?

Then, just as I was about to turn, a voice broke through the fog.

"Need some help with that?"

I turned to see a tall, muscular man leaning against the shelf, arms crossed. His deep brown skin stood out against the vibrant red silk button-down shirt he wore, open just enough to show the tattoos snaking up his neck and forearms. Dark, twisted locks hung loosely over his face, partially hiding his sharp eyes that watched me with a mix of curiosity and amusement. Silver rings adorned his fingers, catching the light as he shifted slightly.

There was something about him—a quiet confidence, like he was at ease, yet ready for anything. Despite the edge to his appearance, his voice was calm, almost soothing. He wasn't just looking at me; he was reading me, as if he could see the uncertainty written all over my face.

I swallowed, clutching a top in my hands. "I—um... I'm not sure. I think I'm a little out of my depth here."

He pushed off the shelf and walked over, his height and muscular build making me feel even smaller in comparison. But as he approached, there was no intimidation in his movements, just a casual, laid-back grace. He glanced at the top in my hands, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Yeah, I could tell," he said, leaning down slightly to meet my eye. "But hey, everyone starts somewhere, right?"

His words, though casual, made me feel like maybe I wasn't so out of place after all. Maybe this wasn't as overwhelming as it seemed. I managed a weak smile.