The dorm phone rang around 4:15 — right as Maya was in the middle of trying to curl her bangs with a pencil.

We both jumped.

The phone’s plastic shell rattled slightly against the desk, its coiled cord twitching like a startled snake. I stared at it for a second like it might explode.

“Are you gonna get that?” Maya asked, blinking upside-down from her bed, her bangs now flared out in awkward little loops.

I sighed and picked up the receiver, the beige plastic cool and slightly sticky against my palm. “Hello?”

A pause. Then:
“Riley Whitlock?

“Yes,” I replied.

“This is Dr. Hendricks. I wanted to follow up on your labs now that we’ve had time to run a more thorough analysis. Do you have a moment to talk privately?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

Maya didn’t say anything. She just met my eyes for half a second, then slipped off the bunk in one smooth motion and walked out. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving behind a faint trace of raspberry body spray and the sound of a Prince cassette still playing softly on the little stereo by the window.

The silence after the door shut felt like a vacuum.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Riley, as we mentioned before, your chromosome panel came back as XX, which did surprise us given your medical history and presentation.”

I pressed the phone tighter to my ear.

“It’s possible,” he continued, “that you were born with a condition called CAH — congenital adrenal hyperplasia — or something very similar. That would’ve caused your body to produce higher levels of androgens before birth, which can lead to masculinized traits in early development, even if the chromosomal sex is female.”

I swallowed. My mouth was dry. My fingers curled around the phone cord, twisting it tight.

“So I was… born like this?”

He was quiet for a second. Not awkward — just careful.
“You were likely born genetically female, yes — but your hormone levels may have masked or altered how that presented. Over time, those hormone levels changed — and that's why your body is realigning with your chromosomal sex.”

Realigning.

The word echoed in my chest like a dropped book in a quiet room.

“That also explains,” he added, “the recent loss of male secondary sex characteristics — and the development of female ones. Including the vocal shift you mentioned. It’s actually not uncommon in this kind of case, especially since you didn’t have a very deep voice to begin with.”

I stared at the phone cord looped tight around my fingers. My knuckles were white. Thin red lines pressed into my skin, but I didn’t let go.

“How long…” I started, my voice barely more than a whisper. “How long have I been like this?”

“I don’t think this is a sudden change,” he said gently. “Your body has likely been shifting for some time — possibly even before you noticed it consciously. Sometimes these changes begin gradually, and the mind does its best to ignore them. Or explain them away.”

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
My whole body felt like it wasn’t mine — like I was watching this conversation happen to someone else, some girl with my name who didn’t know she was a girl until it was too late to be anything else.

“I understand this is a lot to take in,” he said. “But I want you to know you’re not alone. And I’d be happy to talk again once you've had time to process all of this. There are support groups, counselors — we can help you find a path forward.”

I murmured a thank you and hung up.

The click of the receiver settling into its cradle was final. Too final.

The silence afterward was deafening.
Even the stereo had gone quiet — the cassette must’ve ended, leaving only the soft whir of the tape spinning out.

I sat on the edge of the bed like someone had pressed pause on me.
Like my whole life had been rewound and taped over.

The dorm room was quiet,
but my head wasn’t.

XX.
Realigning.
Born female.

A body that had been playing both sides without telling me.

I stared at my palms like they might offer some kind of answer.
They didn’t.
They just sat there — small, a little calloused, shaking faintly in my lap. The leftover imprint of the phone cord still pressed into one finger.

So that was it, then.
I wasn’t transitioning. I wasn’t even changing in the way people meant it.

I was… returning?
Undoing?
Unfolding into something that had apparently always been there — hidden behind old hormone levels and middle school soccer trophies and a voice that never quite cracked all the way.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
So I just sat there.

Outside, a car rolled by, bass thudding faintly under a blur of TLC or maybe Boyz II Men. The radiator clicked once, then went still again. Somewhere, down the hall, someone was laughing too loud — like they hadn’t just realized their whole life had a hidden layer they never saw coming.

After a few minutes, the door creaked open.

Maya stepped in, holding two half-melty cones from the student center — one chocolate, one vanilla. The kind from the self-serve machine near the vending machines, always a little uneven.

She held them up like peace offerings.
“You looked like you could use one of these,” she said softly.

I didn’t say anything.

She crossed the room, handed me the vanilla, and sat beside me without asking. Her backpack thudded gently against the side of the bunk as she lowered herself to the floor beside me, knees pulled up.

I stared at the cone for a second, then took a bite.
It was cold. Sweet. Comforting in a way I didn’t know I needed. Like the exact opposite of everything else happening in my body.

We sat there in silence, the kind where every second counts but no one needs to speak yet.
The ice cream started to drip slowly down the side of the cone, and I wiped it with my thumb without really thinking.

Finally, Maya nudged my knee with hers. “Want to talk?”

I shook my head.

She nodded like she understood. Like she’d already heard every version of the silence I couldn’t name.

And then she said, “Okay.”

And we just… ate ice cream.
Together.

We sat in silence for a while.

Outside the window, someone was skateboarding on the sidewalk too fast, the clack of wheels breaking the rhythm of an otherwise still afternoon. A car alarm started bleating a few blocks away — high, annoying, then suddenly cut off. But in here, it was just the low hum of the mini fridge and the slow, quiet drip of ice cream melting onto a folded paper napkin on the floor.

I stared at the cone in my hand, watched a drop slide down onto my thumb.

And then I said it.
Soft. Not shaky. Just… real.

“They said I’m genetically female.”

Maya didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She didn’t do that thing where people try to comfort you too fast — the quick nods, the awkward reassurances. She just listened.

“They said it’s something I was probably born with. That my body made too much testosterone or something when I was little, and that’s why I looked the way I did. But now… now it’s fading. And I’m changing back to what my DNA says I’ve always been.”

She was still watching me. Still quiet.
The ice cream was melting faster now, pooling slightly in the cone like even it didn’t know what it was supposed to be.

I kept going, because if I didn’t say it now, I might never.

“I don’t know how to feel about it. Like… what does that make me? Was I ever really a guy? Am I supposed to be relieved? Angry? Grateful?” I let out a short laugh, the kind that doesn’t make it past your throat. “Like, thank you universe for the weird hormonal detour?”

Maya set her empty cone down on the desk, beside a half-used pink Bic lighter and a sticker-covered Walkman. Then she reached for my hand.

I didn’t pull away.

“I just… I don’t know who I am anymore,” I whispered.

Her thumb brushed lightly over mine — a small, anchoring motion.
“Maybe you’re still figuring it out,” she said softly. “And maybe that’s okay.”

I looked up at her.
She was already looking at me.

As her fingers traced the soft curves of my body, a shiver of anticipation coursed through me like electricity, igniting a fire that only she could quench. Each delicate touch was both a question and an answer, awakening sensations I had longed for yet never fully understood. Our lips met in a passionate kiss, a collision of warmth and hunger that sent shockwaves through my body. Our tongues entwined in an ancient dance, a rhythm that felt both primal and necessary, as if the universe had conspired to bring us to this moment.

Maya's hand wandered lower with a purposeful grace, exploring the contours of my body, her touch both tender and possessive. I could feel the heat radiating from her fingers, each caress igniting a storm of sensations in my most intimate areas. A soft moan escaped my lips, an involuntary sound of pleasure that seemed to echo in the air around us, amplifying the intensity of the moment as Maya’s fingers delved deeper, exploring the softness and warmth that lay beneath.

With a teasing smile, Maya broke the kiss, her eyes locked on mine—deep, dark pools filled with desire and mischief—as she slid down my body. I could feel the cool air kiss my skin where her warmth had just been, leaving me breathless and yearning. Her lips brushed against my skin, trailing a path of fire down to the juncture of my thighs. The sensation was exquisite, every brush igniting a blaze of urgency within me.

With a playful glint in her eye, Maya leaned in, her tongue flicking out to taste the sweetness of my arousal. My breath hitched in my throat as fire ignited in my core, and I gasped, my back arching instinctively off the surface beneath us. It felt as though time stood still; the world around us faded away, leaving only the two of us, tangled in this sacred moment of intimacy.

My fingers tangled in Maya’s hair, urging her closer as waves of pleasure washed over me, each flick of her tongue sending shivers cascading through my body. She delved deeper, teasing and pleasuring me in ways I never thought possible, her movements fluid and confident, as if she was painting a masterpiece upon my skin. The sensations were overwhelming—heat, need, and an intoxicating blend of pleasure enveloping me, drawing me further away from reality.

Our bodies moved in perfect harmony, a rhythm that felt both instinctual and divine, our moans intertwining in a symphony of desire. The air was thick with the scent of our skin, mingling with the heat of our breaths as Maya's tongue continued its relentless exploration. I felt my climax building, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume me, rising higher with each tantalizing sweep of her mouth.

As the waves crashed over me, I surrendered completely to the sensations, letting go of everything but the ecstasy that enveloped us. My cries of pleasure echoed through the room, raw and unrestrained, a testament to the depths of our connection.

The world blurred into a haze of emotion as I rode the waves of climax, my body convulsing with intensity, each pulse sending shockwaves of pleasure through my entire being. It was as if I had been set free, unshackled by the bonds of restraint, and I lost myself in the raw beauty of the moment—my heart pounding, my breath ragged.

As the waves of pleasure began to subside, Maya crawled back up to me, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of triumph and tenderness. Our bodies pressed together once more, slick with sweat and the remnants of our passion, our hearts pounding in unison. We shared a passionate kiss, the taste of each other still lingering on our lips—a blend of sweetness and heat, a promise of more to come.

In that moment, we had discovered a love that transcended the boundaries of society, a love that was raw and real and full of life. It was a connection that felt as if it had been carved into the very fabric of our beings, one that would forever change the trajectory of our lives. As we lay entwined in each other’s arms, I knew that this was only the beginning of a journey that would challenge us, transform us, and bind us together in ways we could never have imagined.

As the afterglow of our shared ecstasy lingered in the air, I lay there, my heart still racing, my body a canvas of warmth and satisfaction. The soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden hue across the room, illuminating the space where we had just intertwined our souls.

Maya nestled against me, her head resting on my chest, her breath slow and steady as she savored the moment. I could feel the gentle rise and fall of her body, a soothing rhythm that calmed the residual tremors of pleasure still coursing through me. Her hair, a cascade of silky strands, tickled my skin, and I absentmindedly ran my fingers through it, cherishing the intimacy of this simple act.

“Wow,” she finally murmured, her voice soft and dreamy, breaking the comfortable silence that enveloped us. “That was... incredible.”

I chuckled softly, the sound reverberating in my chest. “Incredible doesn’t quite cover it, does it?”

She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and affection. “I don’t think there are enough words in the universe to describe what just happened.”

I smiled, brushing my thumb against her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch. It was a moment of pure vulnerability, and I could sense the weight of everything unspoken hanging in the air between us. “I’ve never felt anything like that before,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Maya’s expression softened, and for a moment, we simply gazed at each other, the world outside fading away as we basked in the aftermath of our connection. It was a look that spoke volumes—of shared secrets, of uncharted territory, and of a bond that had deepened in a way I had never anticipated.

“Do you think this changes things?” she asked, her brow furrowed slightly as she searched my eyes for answers.

I took a deep breath, considering her question carefully.

“I think it has to,” I said. “We just crossed a line, Maya. A beautiful, messy line, and I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

Her lips curled into a smile, slow and certain, and I felt warmth bloom through my chest — not just desire, but something deeper. Steady. Real.

“I don’t want to pretend either,” she said softly. “I want to explore this… whatever this is.”

The air shifted again — charged with possibility, thick with unspoken hopes. That sweet, nervous electricity buzzed under my skin like a current waiting to spark.

I leaned down, brushing her lips with mine — a soft kiss, lingering with the taste of everything we weren’t ready to say yet. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy. It was a promise. A beginning.

Her eyes didn’t break from mine. They held me there — not shy, not hesitant, but claiming. Like she was pulling me in with gravity she didn’t even have to summon. The world around us faded into soft blur. All I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears.

She wasn’t just looking at me.
She was seeing me.
Really seeing me — deep, unflinching, like she could read the parts of me I hadn’t even sorted out yet.

And in that gaze, I felt something stir — something desperate, something hungry, but not just for her. For truth. For something that felt like home.

My breath hitched, but it wasn’t fear.
It was want.

Not just for the heat of her hands or the curve of her mouth — though I wanted those, too — but for the safety in her presence. The sense that maybe, after everything, I could be held without having to explain who I was.

“I don’t know what this becomes,” I whispered, my forehead resting lightly against hers.
“But I want to find out.”

She smiled again, eyes bright. “Me too.”