toy car ; hyunlix

𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗎𝖾

felicia sat on the grass, her dress tucked awkwardly beneath her legs as she watched the boys run across the park. their laughter echoed through the trees, their sneakers kicking up dirt as they chased a ball, carefree in ways she never felt. she tugged at the hem of her dress, frowning at the way the lace scratched her skin. it never felt right—the dresses, the bows, the way people expected her to sit and act. everything felt like it was too tight, too wrong.

her eyes followed one boy in particular—daniel. he was her closest friend, and though they didn’t talk as much as they used to, she still remembered every playdate, every secret they shared. they’d spent hours together playing with his toy cars, racing them across the kitchen floor while his mom baked cookies. felicia had loved those afternoons. she could forget the dresses, the expectations, and just be.

one day, after their last playdate before daniel’s family moved away, he’d handed her one of his cars—a small, red one with chipped paint on the sides. “you can have it,” he’d said, smiling, as if he were giving her something simple. but felicia had clutched it in her hand like it was a lifeline. he didn’t know what it meant to her, how much that little car represented a freedom she longed for.

she still carried it everywhere, hidden deep in her pocket, tucked away like a secret. when things got hard, when the discomfort of being “felicia” became too much, she’d hold it tight, her thumb tracing the chipped paint, and for a moment, it was like she could breathe again.

“felicia, why don’t you go play with the girls?” her mother’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. felicia looked over to see a group of girls gathered on the swings, their dresses swirling in the breeze. they were laughing too, but it was different—lighter, softer. felicia didn’t belong there. she knew it deep down, but she didn’t know how to explain why.

instead of answering, she shook her head and looked back at the boys. her mother sighed, brushing off the refusal like she always did. “someday, you’ll love dresses just like the other girls,” she said, more to herself than to felicia.

felicia stayed quiet. she didn’t want to wear dresses. she wanted to run with the boys, to feel the dirt on her skin and the wind in her hair without anyone telling her to be more careful, more “ladylike.” she didn’t want to be felicia at all.

as the sun began to set, felicia stood up, brushing the grass off her knees. she slid her hand into her pocket, fingers curling around the small red car. the chipped edges pressed into her palm, grounding her. she squeezed it tightly as she turned away from the park, trailing behind her mother.

that night, alone in her room, felicia sat in front of the mirror, staring at the reflection that didn’t feel like her own. the dress had been replaced by pajamas, but the discomfort still lingered, like a shadow that wouldn’t leave her. she glanced down at the toy car on her desk, a small piece of the person she wished she could be.

she wondered, not for the first time, why she couldn’t just be like daniel, like the boys who felt so free, so comfortable in their skin. why did everything about her body, her name, feel so wrong?

she lay down in bed, clutching the car to her chest. maybe tomorrow she’d feel different. maybe tomorrow she’d understand why she didn’t belong in this body, in this name. but as her eyes closed, a name she didn’t fully understand echoed in her mind.

felix.

she didn’t know where it came from, or why it felt right, but it did.