"Mira, could you handle the archive retrieval?"

  Cyria Hale, the Strategic Development Officer of the Honors Program Office, barely looks up from her dual monitors. She is juggling a call with the Dean and an urgent email regarding the Cross-Initiative budget. She gestures vaguely toward the back of the suite. "The 2023 Symposium records. Top shelf in the storage annex. My back is seizing up again, and I have five minutes to prep this brief."

  "Of course, Ms. Hale," Mira says.

  Mira exhales, tiredly finishing the last line of the health check form, her handwriting loosening as if she can already feel the relief of being done with it. The office is full of other students and volunteers, buzzing with activity. Yet, for some reason, Cyria is fond of her. She always asks for Mira’s help, ignoring the other students who are more eager to please.

  Mira weaves through the busy office and steps into the storage annex. It is a deep, windowless vault lined. Mira pauses at the doorway, blinking at the jumble of shelves and half-labeled cartons stacked unevenly along the walls. The air carries the sharp mix of dust and varnish. She pushes her hair back, scanning row after row, but the box Cyria mentions is nowhere in sight.

  After a while, her eyes catch on a bulky carton wedged into the highest shelf, its marker-ink label barely legible from the floor. Mira sighs under her breath—of course it has to be up there. In the middle of the floor a chair waits beneath the tall shelf, its surface worn from years of use yet giving every impression of being sturdy enough, the shadow pooling at one leg concealing a weakness Mira has no cause to notice. She reaches toward it, preparing to climb, her mind fixed only on the shelf above and the task Cyria has given her.

  Mira jolts when a voice speaks right behind her.

  "One leg of the chair is broken. You shouldn't waste time wandering around doing charity for people who should have done their own work."

  Adrian is already leaning in, his presence crowding her before she can even react. Without needing the chair at all, he reaches up and grabs the carton from the shelf above her head. His sleeve brushes against her hair as he brings the box down.

  When they step back out of the storage room, Mira notices the way Adrian locks eyes with Cyria. Cyria freezes, her words cutting off mid-sentence while she’s still on the phone. It is an awkward, jarring silence. Adrian has been at the university for two years and everyone knows his face, but Cyria clearly didn't expect the campus's biggest name to just walk out of a dusty storage closet.

  ?

  Mira has never felt the urge to walk this fast before. Every second she spends in the hall feels like an eternity under the weight of everyone’s stares. With Adrian trailing her, the walk to the dorm feels like the longest route she has ever taken in her life.

  Finally, they reach his room. The door clicks shut, and the memories of last night flood her mind instantly. Her laptop is still right where she left it, perched on his desk. Mira stays near the doorway, shifting her weight, clearly uneasy.

  “You can take a seat if you’d like,” Adrian says, his tone perfectly even.

  She shakes her head. “Just say what you need to say. I don’t want to stay in a guy’s room for too long.”

  “Your DNA results show that your cells have changed,” he says. “I'm not sure of all the variables yet, but it may trigger the shrinking if you experience strong emotions—like panic, fear, or stress. You shouldn't be alone in hidden corners like that storage room.”

  He pauses, the air between them turning cold. “And you’d better not get close to Cyria Hale.”

  "Wait, wait. I don't get it," she says. "You aren't even sure about the variables, yet you’re following me around and telling me what to do. You even interfered in my class. Now you’re telling me to stay away from a university official just because she asked for my help?" A wave of unease washes over Mira. It feels like her freedom is being stripped away.

  She looks at him, her frustration growing. "Adrian, I know you’ve helped me a lot and I know you care, but this isn't right. It shouldn't be like this. This is an invasion of my personal space."

  Adrian remains calm, his voice dropping into a detached, clinical tone. "I tracked your physiological responses during the seminar. Your pupillary dilation and the tension in your facial muscles showed you were reaching a cognitive limit. You were becoming reactive, easily triggered by the debate. I just wanted to make sure you didn't hit a state of emotional overload and shrink in public."

  Mira feels a spark of indignation. "But nothing happened, Adrian. I'm fine, totally stable. Don't just observe me and turn my life into an experiment."

  She pulls her laptop to her chest, clutching it like a shield as she gathers every bit of courage she has left. "Maybe I am wasting my time helping people, but that’s just who I am. Since you have no idea what’s actually going to happen to me, you should stop trying to force me into your cage."

  She spins around and storms toward the door, her pace fast and fueled by pure adrenaline.

  The move is simple, but it hits him way harder than it should. He stands there frozen, realizing he can't just let her walk out and take this kind of risk alone.

  “Mira—wait.”

  His hand shoots out and catches her wrist mid-step, the grip firm enough to stop her. The other hand moves, fingers brushing lightly against her jaw— to make sure she’s still real beneath his touch. He draws closer, narrowing the space until the world is just this single, breathless gap. His lips suspended a heartbeat away from the cherry-blossom flush of her cheek. He traces the vibrant, juicy color of her mouth with his eyes, gauging her response, watching for a change in her pulse. Adrian hates himself for this choice—for turning this fragile moment into an experiment he can’t design any other way. But he whispers anyway, barely audible between them—

  “I’m sorry, Mira.”

  It comes from somewhere deeper than logic.

  It’s the breath of guilt made into sound. He remains perfectly still in her warmth, testing her reaction against the sweet vibration of her breath.

  Four seconds after contact, he feels her pulse jump to nearly twice its normal pace under his fingers. Her eyes fly wide, sudden and sharp.

  She flinches. Her breath draws in fast, tangled in heat and panic and disbelief.

  And then—

  POOF.

  The air folds inward, rippling in that strange way it has before. Her weight vanishes from his arms. Her presence collapses into light and silence.

  The laptop slips from her vanishing form, beginning a dead-weight plunge toward the floor—aiming right for the space where Mira’s now-tiny head would be.

  Adrian moves on pure reflex. He lunges, his hand sweeping through the air to snatch the device just inches before it can crush her.

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  She is gone from his arms, but his hands are full of cold plastic and metal.

  Her voice rises from somewhere near his feet—trembling, furious, humiliated.

  “NO. NO. NO! NOT AGAIN!”

  And Adrian crouches there, lips still parted, arms still caught around memory, the echo of her warmth still pressed against his chest. He has been right.

  Her body functions like Mimosa Pudica, one of the rare kinds with exceptionally high bioelectrical signaling capacity, the nickname she used during the interview last month, the one that made him laugh for a week every time he remembered it—along with her pouty face whenever she argued with him. It folds inward, shrinking as a response mechanism, drawing itself smaller to reduce exposure and avoid external threat.

  Now when everything starts to line, it feels like he’s broken something far more delicate than magic.

  Before she can scramble away, Adrian moves fast, wrapping clothes around her and scooping her up effortlessly in one hand.

  Mira stares up at him, every inch of her trembling with anger.

  And then she erupts.

  “Did you just—test your whatever half-baked theory on me?!”

  Mira’s entire body is vibrating with rage now, so small she barely makes a dent in his palm, but so loud it’s like lightning in a teacup.

  “You manipulated me! You leaned in on purpose!” Her voice cracks, shrill and livid. “You knew it would happen, and you did it anyway!”

  “I’m sorry Mira. I wasn’t sure—” he starts, but that was the wrong answer.

  “Oh, you weren’t sure?” She snaps. “But it was worth trying anyway? What am I to you—just some... walking variable?!”

  He opens his mouth, then shuts it.

  She glares up at him, chest heaving, hair wild, eyes burning like green fire.

  “Put. Me. Down.”

  And for the first time since the transformation, Adrian looks like the one who doesn’t know what to do.

  He holds her a moment longer than necessary, still trying to convince himself this is real. She’s warm. Alive. Infuriated. Still Mira.

  “You’re lighter than I expected,” he whispers—half to her, half to himself.

  Her tiny face goes crimson. “I swear, if you don’t—!”

  He adjusts his grip slightly, more secure than before, but not tight. “Relax. I won’t drop you.”

  There’s a beat. The amusement remains on his lips, but his voice softens.. “...But we do have a problem, don’t we?”

  She blinks, still glowering. “What problem?”

  He exhales slowly, letting her weight settle into his palm, almost like an anchor. “If this keeps happening without warning... you could shrink in the middle of class. Or worse.”

  His golden eyes narrow, just a little, gauging her reaction. “So. What’s it going to be, Mira? You want to keep avoiding me, or are we going to solve this together?”

  Mira stares up at him. She is screaming. Internally. Loudly.

  ?

  A moment later.

  He sits on the bed, rubbing his temples.

  "Now that you’re dressed… let’s talk about your condition."

  Mira’s body tenses. "We already know what happened."

  "Do we?"

  Mira avoids eye contact. "I don’t want to talk about that."

  Adrian sighs. "Mira, if we don’t figure this out, you’ll stay tiny forever."

  Mira grips the fabric of her new dress.

  Adrian leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "The first time you transformed back to normal—"

  Mira tenses. "I don’t remember."

  Adrian narrows his eyes. "You’re lying."

  Mira’s face heats up. "I… I just don’t think it’s important."

  Mira shifts. She knows what happened. The memory of being against his chest, how warm and comfortable it was— No. No way she is saying that.

  Adrian narrows his eyes. "You were close to me, weren’t you?"

  Mira’s face burns red.

  "That’s it, isn’t it?" he presses on.

  "Do NOT finish that thought."

  Adrian picks her up carefully and places her on his chest. "Alright. We wait."

  Mira stiffens, her tiny hands pressing against his shirt. "THIS IS RIDICULOUS."

  Mira can feel his heartbeat is stable beneath her, warm and familiar.

  Minutes pass. Nothing happens.

  Mira’s heart is racing—

  Not from the transformation, just from—

  Ugh!

  Adrian watches her reaction, amused. "Nervous?"

  "I hate you."

  Mira’s temper far too large for the space she occupies. She doesn’t speak again after that. She grumbles, stiffens, flails a little for dignity, and then falls into silence.

  She doesn’t sleep.

  She tells herself she will—closes her eyes, stills her limbs, counts his breaths beneath her—but nothing settles. The rise and fall of his chest is a slow, stable rhythm, but her own pulse is out of sync with it, quick and stubborn. Every time she relaxes a little, some ridiculous awareness drags her back. The heat of him. The silence. The fact that she is there, curled against Adrian Vale’s collarbone like some overworked talisman of misfortune. His shirt smells like cedar and clean cotton and something chemical, the ghost of lab gloves or formula ink.

  She hates that she notices.

  Time passes unevenly. At some point, Adrian’s breaths deepen—he might be asleep—but she can’t join him. By the time morning creeps in—her limbs are sore from holding tension that never leaves. Her mind, overworked from its own refusal to rest, offers no solution.

  She is still small. Still helpless.

  And still perched like an angry, sleepless gremlin on the chest of the only person calm enough to sleep through it.

  “Still tiny,” she mutters darkly. “Great.”

  And beneath her, Adrian sits up slowly, keeping her in his palm. His mind is already running.

  “Let’s think this through. The first time, you returned to normal when you were close to me.”

  Mira’s face flushes hot. Does he really have to repeat it like that?

  “But then, when we are close again… you shrink.”

  Mira scowls. “So what now? I’m allergic to you?”

  He ignores the sarcasm. “And now, after staying close all night, your size hasn’t changed. So proximity alone isn’t the key.”

  Mira draws her knees in, clearly losing her patience, “Then what is?”

  Adrian leans slightly back, brow furrowed. “Let’s go over it. Last night…”

  “DON’T say it,” Mira snaps, already knowing where he’s headed.

  “…When you’re flustered. Strong emotion. High adrenaline. Every time, it lines up,” Adrian says, tapping his chin. “That’s when you transform.”

  She stares at him, horrified as realization creeps in. “So it’s not just being near you. It’s when I feel… stressed?”

  Adrian nods once. “It fits with my assumption.”

  “But after that,” she mutters, gaze darting sideways, “even though you’re close… I couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep.”

  “So no change.”

  She covers her face with both hands. “This is so humiliating.”

  Adrian rests his chin on one hand. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  She peeks through her fingers, warning already in her voice. “Don’t you dare—”

  “I have to make you very comfortable,” he says with deliberate slowness.

  Mira kicks his hand. “SHUT UPPPP.”

  Arms crossed tightly over her chest, she glares up at him with all the fury a two-inch girl can muster.

  Adrian looks down at her like she’s the most fascinating mystery he’s ever touched. He doesn’t even notice how much he has changed.

  Back then, he was sharp, methodical — a little mischievous sometimes, but he always kept a layer of polish, of restraint.

  Now he is both: the methodical type and the shameless, ruthless teaser, all in one infuriating package.

  Mira, tiny and furious in his hand, is a wonder he hasn’t expected — a living, breathing secret he has been chasing for years without even knowing it.

  And now, here she is, scowling up at him like he’s the villain of her story.

  Maybe they’re supposed to be serious, to figure out the rules, to chase the why and how of it all.

  But Adrian can’t help it.

  Ever since the Celestial Bloom, a constant weight of worry has followed him as he sifted through every myth and theory he could find. While he assumed the stabilizer held the answer, he never imagined that he himself would be the solution. Her situation remains critical, but untying that one knot is enough to make him relax—especially now that she is no longer avoiding him. Having her here, tiny and close, changes everything. It only matters now that it feels good to laugh like this, to tease without thinking, and to let go of the careful lines he used to toe.

  Even when she gets adorably angry.

  ?