11:00 PM

  Adrian’s mind is already analyzing.

  Mira fell asleep at 8:00 PM, leaving her in a deep, heavy sleep by now. She lies peacefully on the giant daybed, her tiny hand curling slightly. Her size remains unchanged. It is the perfect time for the measurement.

  Adrian lowers himself onto the daybed, sinking into the mattress to absorb his weight. Lying on his side to face Mira, he anchors his frame by resting one arm relaxed along the sheets from shoulder to wrist. He aligns his body parallel to hers, keeping her slightly below his eye level to watch over her while his pulse slows and his breathing deepens.

  The first step is to gather baseline measurements. He attaches a miniaturized EEG scanner to track her brain activity, hoping to identify any changes in stress levels or neurological responses. The ECG electrodes are used to monitor her heart rate, in case synchronization with his own plays a role in her transformation. And the EDA sensors to measure her adrenaline levels.

  Adrian records her current state without making any physical contact. Her brain waves are slow and stable, typical for someone in deep sleep. Her heart rate remains normal for a resting state, and her adrenaline levels are low, in line with baseline expectations. The bioelectric fluctuations are minimal, showing no significant changes. So far, nothing unusual.

  Adrian slides his hand closer, offering his index finger until her tiny hands instinctively find the warmth. She curls around the single digit, her arms barely spanning the curve, hugging his skin like a lifeline while her cheek presses against his fingerprint. At two inches tall, she appears incredibly delicate, a miniature form breathing softly against him. He maintains this connection for fifteen minutes, his eyes tracking the sensor readout. The data holds a constant line, confirming that skin contact alone lacks the power to trigger the transformation.

  Adrian cups his hand to cradle Mira in the center of his palm, providing a larger surface area and more warmth. Another 15 minutes pass, but there is still no noticeable change in the bioelectric readings. This time, Adrian places her against his wrist pulse, where his heartbeat and electrical activity are most prominent. She tips forward, resting her chest against the vein while her bottom remains seated. He reaches with his free hand to ease her back, but her reaction catches him off guard. She sighs and instinctively wraps her tiny arms around the curve of his wrist, hiking her legs up to hug the massive column of his forearm like a pillow.

  The EEG shows a noticeable change in brainwave activity upon contact. The readings reveal a slight synchronization. The high speed of her heart yields to the tempo of his own, inching down beat by beat, 300… 280… 270. As the heart rate slows, the brainwaves lengthen, flatten into a long, uniform loop. The signal pulses exactly once per second, timing itself to the heavy throb of blood in his wrist. In opposition, the EDA reading climbs pixel by pixel. 4.2 μS … 9.5 μS. She is absorbing the charge, filling her depleted reserves like a battery connected to a main line.

  Fifteen minutes later, the EDA line spikes vertically.

  A sudden luminescence blooms from her skin. The light radiates deep emerald and amber gold, shimmering with the iridescent quality of goblin moss. It wraps her tiny form in a bio-electric haze.

  Adrian’s mind races as he processes the results.

  The location of contact makes a difference, as does the duration of exposure.

  There is a distinct neurological and bioelectric response at play.

  But before he can analyze further—

  The glow flares.

  The weight on his arm multiplies immediately. The miniature figure expands, filling the space beside him instantly with her natural size. Her upper chest presses warm against his forearm, the softness sinking deep into the hard ridge of his muscle. His left hand clamps onto the center of her back—a reflex to keep her from rolling. But his right hand hangs suspended in the dark, hovering inches above her arm. His fingers twitch, curling into a tight fist against the air, every muscle fiber in him fighting the magnetic pull to give in and complete the embrace.

  Adrian finally forces himself to move. He drags the duvet up, pulling the fabric over her bare shoulders to shield her from the cool air—and from his own eyes. The white mound of the covers rises and falls on his chest. Mira sighs, oblivious to his internal war, nuzzling her face deep into his chest as she seeks the heat. Her hand slides up blindly in the dark, fingertips pressing softly against the sensitive column of his neck, anchoring herself to the one point where his pulse is most exposed. He feels the gentle weight of her palm settling there, moulding to the shape of his throat. The contact warms his skin instantly. His heart hammers against the smooth pads of her fingers, beating a rapid rhythm against her skin. He lies there rigid as a mannequin, staring wide-eyed at the empty air while she clings to him like a ticking bomb. For the first time, his body refuses to listen to him. The thumping against his ribs becomes so loud that he holds his breath, worried that it might wake her up. For all the brilliance attached to the Vale name, and despite a bloodline literally engineered for stability, Adrian feels remarkably unhinged.

  He is eighteen.

  He has never been this close to another living soul.

  And now that he’s finally fallen in love, he has managed to do it with a girl who literally changes form if he gets too close.

  The problem turns over in his mind and refuses to be solved. The logic of her is a headache: she only returns to her true form when she’s deeply asleep beside him. Yet, when she’s awake, his mere proximity causes her to shrink, her body reacting to him like a physical tide. Every variable leads back to the same inconvenient source.

  Him.

  Life, it seems, has its own sense of humor.

  This time, it is not testing his intelligence.

  It is testing his ability to endure.

  ?

  A soft sigh escapes Mira’s lips as she curls deeper beneath the thick, warm blanket. Her body feels… different. Heavier. Normal.

  Her eyes flutter open. For a few seconds, she lies still, her mind groggy with sleep.

  And then it hits her.

  She’s back to her normal size. Her heart skips a beat.

  The doll-sized clothes—completely useless now. She sinks deeper into the blanket, gripping it tightly around herself. Her face heats rapidly, flushing a deep, almost alarming shade of red.

  She’s in a luxurious resort suite. In a bed. In nothing but a blanket.

  And Adrian is nowhere to be seen.

  A horrifying thought slams into her.

  Did he wake up, see her like this, and immediately flee?!

  Mira buries her burning face into the pillow. What is she supposed to do now?!

  A while later, a knock echoes against the wood before the door clicks open.

  Mira instantly tenses, gripping the blanket even tighter around herself as Adrian steps inside.

  He carries a bundle of bags, the packaging unmistakably from the boutique clothing store in the resort. She notices that while he tries to maintain his usual calm, he avoids her eyes, his gaze darting toward the bags or the floor, and a warm, boyish shyness colors his face that makes Mira feel even more exposed. It’s clear he’s already pieced together her problem, yet the way he hesitates shows he is just as overwhelmed by the sudden intimacy of the situation as she is.

  “You should change first,” Adrian says, his tone carries a slight, nervous hitch that betrays his nerves. “We’ll talk after.”

  Mira swallows, still too flustered to form a proper response.

  And just like that, Adrian turns and leaves the room.

  For a moment, she just lies there, staring at the towering arrangement of bags that now occupy half the room like some extravagant tribute at a royal offering. She blinks, then lets out a soft, incredulous huff, brushing a hand through her tangled hair. “How many lives do you think I live, Adrian?” she whispers to no one.

  Mira reaches down and selects the first outfit her fingers touch—a cobalt green dress with whisper-light fabric that flutters like leaves on a breeze. When she slips it over her head, it settles on her frame as if it’s been waiting just for her. The hem dances just above her knees, the sleeves flutter softly at her elbows. She turns, catching her reflection in the mirror—no longer a tiny creature lost in someone’s room, but herself again, solid and whole, though still not quite grounded.

  Then, curious, she bends to one of the open boxes and lifts a pair of shoes from within—soft almond-colored flats with a barely-there bow at the front. She expects them to be too tight or too stiff, but as she eases her foot in, a small gasp escapes her. They fit perfectly, with soft support and a gentle snugness that makes her feel strangely... cared for.

  And that’s what makes her heart twist the most.

  This is impossibly kind. Entirely Adrian.

  Stepping outside, the fresh morning air greets her. Adrian is already there, sitting on a wooden chair, one arm resting casually on the table, his fingers lightly tapping against the surface.

  His eyes lift as she approaches, and for a split second, Mira swears they spark with a startled energy. But he quickly masks it, his expression settling back into his usual calm.

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  She sits down in front of him, adjusting the folds of her dress.

  For a moment, neither of them speaks.

  Mira isn’t sure if it’s embarrassment, confusion, or both, but she feels warm again. And judging by the way Adrian looks slightly off to the side—he isn’t immune either.

  Adrian exhales slowly, his fingers interlocking as he leans forward, elbows resting on the wooden table, then starts to explain his observations. He breaks it down thoroughly—covering the variables he tested, the lack of reaction from finger and palm contact, and the breakthrough when she was placed against his wrist pulse.

  Finally, he reaches his conclusion: her transformation has a physiological trigger. The proximity to his pulse confirms a connection to biological signals, possibly his body's natural electrical activity.

  Mira listens, but every clinical word feels like a brick being added to a wall between them. “…So what you’re saying is, I’m some kind of human-sized bio-sensor that reacts to you?” She asks.

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  Mira exhales. “So I need to control my emotions, specifically stress first, or else I’ll shrink again.”

  Adrian nods. “Correct. Given what we’ve observed, your transformation is influenced by stress levels.”

  Adrian continues. “Secondly, for now, there are still too many unknown factors. But based on what we do know, the condition for you to return to normal is a combination of relaxation and physical exposure to me.”

  Mira stiffens. “Define ‘physical exposure.’”

  “Close proximity to my pulse. Long enough so that our rhythms can sync.”

  Silence.

  Mira covers her face. “You’re telling me I have to stick to you like some kind of… biological phone charger?”

  Adrian leans forward slightly, his voice dropping into something more serious. “The solution is practice. If this happens again, we need to know exactly how to reverse it. What works, what doesn’t, and how long it takes.”

  He continues. "From now on, you should try not to shrink away, and we also need an emergency solution to turn you back without forcing you into a deep sleep, by using exposure therapy. A method therapists use to treat phobias."

  Mira frowns, her head suddenly feeling crowded by everything he just said. “Phobia?” she asks. “Are you saying I’m afraid of you?”

  Adrian looks ahead, fingers resting against the bench. “Your heartbeat increases by one hundred percent just from sitting close to me,” he says. “And we can’t keep changing our surroundings every time you shrink.”

  Mira tenses to argue, then her heart suddenly races, and the irony hits her all at once. She looks away, avoiding his eyes, and says, “…Fine. What’s the plan?”

  "We start with mental exposure. Think about being near me. Picture it in your mind while focusing on your breathing. Keep yourself calm. Once you can do that without feeling tense, we move to physical exposure gradually."

  "Define 'gradual.'" Mira asks.

  Adrian’s tone remains clinical. "Levels of exposure increase step by step. First, you sit next to me, no contact. Then, we move closer. Eventually, we introduce physical contact—first minimal, like a hand on the same surface, then more, like hand on my pulse. You’ll practice meditation throughout, keeping yourself stable at each stage."

  She looks at him, trying to follow.

  "We also need a device that works before and during your transformation, it will send a signal to me the moment you shrink, and supports your system through the change. It will take around two weeks.” He adds.

  “How is that supposed to work?”

  “When you change from tiny to human, your body faces a sudden demand all at once: your heart must support a full-sized circulation, blood pressure must adjust to gravity, muscles must carry weight, and your balance must recalibrate at the same time. That surge overwhelms your system and leads to dizziness or collapse. The device would send a short preparatory signal just before and during the change, guiding your automatic systems to respond earlier. Your heart increases output before pressure drops, your vessels tighten before blood shifts downward, your muscles engage before they carry full load, and your balance reflexes activate before orientation slips.”

  Mira presses a hand to her temple, half-laughing in frustration. He says, as if simply sees her stress as a "bug in the system" that needs to be fixed. The science mode is him. He clearly doesn't see a boundary between "I am studying you" and "I care."

  When her world is shrinking, and her life is a mess, she is in desperate need of a romance novel; instead, Adrian is throwing her a peer-reviewed journal paper.

  He’s offering her his heart, but he’s doing it in bullet points.

  “Adrian,” she says, overwhelmed and exhausted, “one sentence. Please.”

  “Like tensing your legs before you jump instead of landing loose and falling.”

  Mira shifts a little. “But… aren’t you busy? Both the therapy and the device development take time, don’t they?”

  Adrian hesitates, then answers carefully. “For the first two stages, I need to understand your daily rhythm,” he says. “How your body behaves during normal activity, under stress, and when it settles. We’ll keep your routine normal during the day, and run the therapy at night. For that, we need a place that’s safe and convenient for both of us—somewhere I can work on the device and conduct the sessions at the same time.”

  Mira feels the direction of the answer before he finishes.

  “And?” she asks.

  “My place,” he says finally, dropping the bombshell. “I’ll need at least a week to gather enough data.”

  Adrian notices Mira freezes, heat rushing up her neck.

  After a brief pause, he says, “If this makes you uncomfortable, I can figure out another way.”

  Mira takes a slow breath to calm herself. “Then how do you measure my rhythm?”

  “You’ll wear a pro-performance tracking vest, similar to the ones worn by elite athletes. It houses a precision sensor that monitors your heart rate, ECG, and biometric signals throughout your daily grind—from the stress of classes to your routine—and continues to track through the night to capture your body’s recovery when your system is at its calmest.”

  He watches her tension build just from the explanation—the tight shoulders, the rigid spine, the mind already overworking.

  She isn’t ready to begin like this.

  Adrian sees it clearly, and the conclusion is obvious to him.

  “For the exposure therapy, you need a familiar routine first,” he says. “Something that lowers your baseline stress before any exposure work.”

  “Like what?”

  “We’ll study together. Exam prep. Project work. Consistent sessions.”

  Mira’s eyes brighten almost instantly. “You’re saying… you’ll be my personal teaching assistant?”

  Adrian gives a small nod.

  “Even cram for exams?” she asks, voice picking up.

  Another nod.

  Her excitement flashes, like a spark catching air. “Can we debate? Properly, I mean.”

  Adrian rests his cheek against one hand, unable to stop the knowing smile that pulls at him.

  “As you wish,” he says.

  Then Mira’s smile fades. She looks down for a moment, breathing once, then looks back up. “About… uhm, your place,” she says. “If it’s just one or two weeks, I think I can manage.” She pauses. “Just give me one or two days to prepare. Emotionally. And logistics.”

  Adrian nods. “Then, the therapy sessions, can we start tomorrow?” He looks at her. “What time are you free?”

  She hesitates, flustered. “Usually after 8 pm. You don’t have to stay the whole time, though. I’m good at studying on my own.”

  And just like that, their new routine is set. Their presence becomes part of each other, whether they meant it or not.

  The conversation changes to a pause, as if both of them sense that pushing further would only cloud what is already fragile. The garden fills the space they leave behind—the air is clean, carrying the scent of fresh grass and the soft ripples of water. It’s the kind of morning that makes all worries feel distant, like a dream that fades with the first touch of daylight.

  "What do you want to do after breakfast?" Adrian asks.

  Mira pauses, considering.

  "Shall we go back to the university?" Adrian continues.

  The idea runs through Mira’s mind. It’s Sunday. The campus will be crowded with students enjoying their free time, with no classes keeping them indoors. Her friends already know she isn’t on campus this weekend—if she suddenly returns with Adrian now...

  Not a good idea.

  She exhales. "If we go back now, people will definitely notice. And I’d rather not deal with a million questions."

  Adrian nods slightly, as if he’s expected that answer. Then, without hesitation, he asks, "Then shall we stay?"

  After some thought, the two end up in the estate’s garden.

  Mira’s eyes light up the moment she sees the ripe fruit hanging before her. Yesterday, she had been too tiny to do this. She could barely lift a grape back then, let alone pick one. Now, finally back to normal, she can enjoy something so simple—something she hadn’t even realized she’d missed.

  She eagerly reaches for a bunch of grapes, plucking them with a satisfied hum. Then she crouches by the strawberry plants, carefully selecting the ripest ones, her fingers moving with practiced ease.

  Meanwhile, Adrian simply tags along. He has no particular interest in picking fruit, but he follows her, watching as she moves with so much enthusiasm.

  At one point, he crosses his arms and sighs lightly. "I still don’t get what’s so fun about this."

  Mira glances up at him, holding a particularly plump strawberry in her hand. "You wouldn’t understand," she says playfully. "You don’t appreciate the joy of small things."

  He leans back in a small white chair in the middle of the garden, a round table beside him, its surface warmed by the sun. With one arm resting on the chair’s armrest, he scrolls lazily through something on his phone, occasionally glancing up to see Mira wandering around with her woven basket.

  She moves like she belongs there, weaving between the vines and bushes, carefully selecting the ripest fruit. The sunlight catches in her hair, the light breeze sways the hem of her green dress, and for a moment, Adrian finds himself watching her more than reading.

  Hours pass.

  Mira finally returns, placing the basket full of ripe grapes and strawberries onto the table.

  "Try some," she says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Adrian, without much thought, reaches into the basket, picks up a grape, and lazily pops it into his mouth.

  "...This is better than the ones I bought."

  "Of course. That’s because I picked them myself."

  The grape’s sweetness still lasts on Mira’s lips as she hands the last plump fruit to Adrian. They sit beneath the patchy shade of a golden-leafed arbor, a wicker basket resting between them, half-filled with the remnants of their autumn harvest.

  “By the way,” she says, clearing her throat as if suddenly remembering, “why did you buy so many clothes for me?”

  Adrian doesn’t look particularly bothered. “The staff brought out a lot of things. I don’t know which one would suit you, so…” He makes a vague gesture. “Fastest and most efficient option is to buy all of them.”

  "All of them?”

  He gives a slow nod. “Yes. Problem?”

  Her jaw drops a little. “Do you even realize how much that would cost? That’s probably more than my full scholarship—like, years of tuition.”

  Adrian shrugs, eyes fixed lazily on the basket. “Then just consider them gifts.”

  Mira stares harder at him, like she’s trying to understand what planet he’s from. “How am I supposed to bring all of these back to campus without drawing attention?”

  “Would it help if we bought what you need after the morning break and left the bags at my place?” Adrian pauses, eyes lifting to her briefly, watching her expression as he makes the offer.

  Mira feels her cheeks grow warm. She breathes in, holding on to the thought that this is rational—just logistics, just part of her therapy, just a way to ease the fairy symptoms. She takes a small breath, then nods.

  “Um…I need just a few things. If you don’t mind.”

  She steals another glance at him, and their eyes meet. Neither of them notices that the same shade of pink has settled on both their faces, yet each can hear the other’s heartbeat, close and clear.

  Before it becomes too much for her to handle, Mira speaks quickly, standing up and brushing imaginary dust from her skirt.

  “…I’m going to walk a bit more.” She glances toward the winding path that leads between rows of trees dusted in amber and rust.

  Adrian stays seated as she walks off, his eyes following her for a second before lifting to the sky, giving himself a moment.

  ?