Victim

It's risky, but trust me-she'll love it

Malia's POV

It's Sunday, which means it's matcha day. Kylie and I are tucked into our usual booth at the café, sipping our drinks and tossing random questions at each other like it's a game.

"Okay, my turn," she says, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. "What's something you really, really want to do?"

"Anything?" I ask, raising a curious brow.

She nods eagerly. "Anything in the world, no matter what it costs or how wild it sounds."

I take a moment to think, twirling my straw absently in my drink. Then I shrug, feeling a bit shy. "I'd like to go to a bookstore and buy some books."

Kylie snorts, giving me an unimpressed look. "Come on, you do that all the time. There's gotta be something else you want more than that."

My cheeks flush slightly. She's right, but I'm embarrassed to tell her the truth. It's dancing again—something I haven't done in years. We talked about me quitting once before, but it was so brief I'm sure she doesn't even remember.

"You can tell me," she says, her voice dropping to a softer tone. "No judgment... unless you're about to tell me you want to become a furry. Then I might judge."

I can't help but giggle. "No, nothing like that," I say, glancing down at my matcha as I hesitate. But the way she's looking at me—patiently, her hand resting lightly on mine—makes me feel safe enough to admit it. "Well, I'd do anything to dance again."

"Dance?" Kylie tilts her head slightly, her eyes lighting up as if she's just uncovered something important. "Like you used to before you had to quit?"

I look at her, surprised. I didn't think she'd remember that conversation.

I nod, my voice carrying a bittersweet edge. "Just to follow a random class again. I wouldn't even care if it was ballet, hip-hop, tap, or contemporary. I just... I miss feeling confident and free with every move I make." My voice softens as memories of those carefree days resurface. "I really miss it."

Kylie watches me for a long moment, her gaze unwavering. "Why haven't you tried dancing again?"

I let out a small sigh, my fingers toying with the edge of my sleeve. "I, uh... I don't really fully trust my body—or my mind," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper as I look down.

Kylie's hand suddenly tightens around mine, her fingers interlocking with mine in a reassuring gesture. "You told me you had to quit because of anxiety. Is it still that bad? I mean—sorry for assuming—but you don't seem very anxious. Sure, you pick at your nails sometimes or fidget when you're nervous, but—"

I cut her off, my eyes widening. "You notice me doing that?"

She laughs, the sound warm and light, making me feel a little less exposed. "Malia, you do it all the time," she teases. "You even started a minute ago before I grabbed your hand. I pay attention, sometimes."

"Oh." I blink, taken aback. "I didn't know it was that noticeable. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for, Mia," she says gently, her thumb brushing against the back of my hand. "It's not noticeable to everyone—I just pay attention to you." She winks, and the playful glint in her eyes makes my cheeks flush bright red.

A big smirk spreads across her face, and I know she's loving my reaction.

"Well," I mumble, trying to collect myself, "you're right. It's not as bad as it used to be." I pause, hesitating again. But Kylie doesn't rush me. She just waits, her patience making me feel like I can say anything. "My anxiety used to be so bad that... my mind tricked me into thinking I couldn't walk. I was diagnosed with complex regional pain syndrome when I was eight."