It was ten to eight, and I was rushing down the sidewalk with one shoe half-tied and my jacket half-zipped. The late-summer air still clung to the buildings, sticky and restless, and I was already sweating by the time I crossed the quad. My backpack thumped awkwardly against my hip, and I kept having to shove a loose sleeve back up my arm.

The student union loomed ahead — brick walls, big glass windows, and a flickering poster board out front for upcoming campus events: movie night, open mic, some kind of eco club car wash. Someone had doodled sunglasses on the flyer for the improv group. Someone else had drawn devil horns on the student body president.

I spotted Maya sitting on the low brick planter by the entrance, kicking her legs idly and sipping from a plastic water bottle. She waved when she saw me.

"You're late," she said, grinning.

"Only by a minute," I panted, catching my breath. "It counts as on time if I'm jogging."

Maya tilted her head, studying me for a second. "Everything okay?"

I nodded, maybe a little too quickly. "Yeah. Just... rough day."

She didn't press. Just patted the spot beside her. "Come sit."

I dropped down next to her. The bricks were warm beneath my palms, and the scent of something fried wafted out from the union's back door — maybe mozzarella sticks or curly fries from the basement snack bar. The windows above glowed with soft yellow light, casting long shapes across the pavement.

"I wanted to check in after last night," she said, voice softening. "You seemed kinda... off."

I shrugged. "Yeah, well. I guess watching a bunch of makeovers and shopping montages isn't really my thing."

She gave me a look — half amused, half knowing. "It wasn't the movie. It was the way you acted during it."

I froze.

"I'm not judging, Riley," she added quickly. "It was just... unexpected. That laugh? That wasn't your usual 'I'm-humoring-you' chuckle."

"I know," I said, avoiding her gaze. "I don't know what happened. It just slipped out."

Maya didn't say anything for a second. She took another sip from her water, then set it down beside her. A car passed on the street nearby, headlights briefly sweeping across the sidewalk like a spotlight — and then gone.

"You ever feel like there's something inside you trying to... I don't know. Shift?"

"I mean, I guess—" I started, then paused mid-sentence.

Because the next word out of my mouth came out wrong.

It wasn't deep or quiet like I expected.
It was higher. Softer. Feminine.

"—yeah?"

I heard it before I felt it — and then the heat hit my face like a sunburn.

I slapped a hand over my mouth.
The breath caught in my throat.

Maya blinked. Her eyebrows jumped slightly. Not in fear — just surprise. Something careful passed behind her eyes.

"What was that?"

I shook my head, eyes wide. "I—I didn't—"

"Was that your voice?"

I nodded, barely.

Then I managed to whisper, "I don't know what's happening to me."

Maya didn't laugh. She didn't recoil. She didn't do anything I was bracing for.
No shocked gasp. No awkward silence. No forced chuckle to defuse the weirdness.

Instead, she just reached over and touched my arm.
Not in a grand, dramatic way — just a steady, grounding pressure. Warm. Real.

"Hey," she said quietly. "It's okay."

I kept my hand over my mouth, like that might stop it from happening again.
Like maybe the words would go back to normal if I just held them in long enough.
Like I could trap whatever was inside before it got out again.

"It's not," I mumbled through my fingers. My voice wobbled. My throat felt dry.

"Yes, it is," she said firmly. "You're okay. You're still you."

I finally looked at her.
Her expression wasn't shocked — just concerned. Steady. Like she was anchoring herself for both of us.
No pity. No disbelief. Just Maya, being Maya.

"I don't know why it sounded like that," I whispered. "It just—happened."

"I believe you."

I looked down at my shoes. One lace still undone.
My legs were shaking a little, and I hadn't even noticed. The bricks under me felt warmer than they had a moment ago — or maybe I was just overheating from the inside out.

"I think maybe..." Maya hesitated, choosing her words like she didn't want to make it worse. "Maybe we should go to the campus health center. Just to check in."

"You think I'm sick?" I said.

But it didn't come out the way I meant it to.
The words were mine, but the voice wasn't.
It was higher again. Softer. Almost questioning in a way that didn't feel like me at all.

I clamped my mouth shut.
Fingers tightened against my lips. My breath hitched in my chest like a gear grinding out of place.

Maya blinked, and her mouth opened slightly — but then she closed it again.
She didn't flinch. Just looked at me, quiet for a beat. Letting the silence settle. Holding space for it.

"I don't think you're sick," she said gently. "But I do think something's going on. And it might be a good idea to talk to someone about it. A nurse. A doctor. Whoever can help figure this out."

I couldn't even answer.
I just nodded — tiny, shaky.

Maya leaned in a little. Her knees bumped mine.
"I'll go with you. You don't have to explain everything. I'll just be there."

And somehow, even with my voice cracking like glass and my insides twisting into knots, that helped more than I could say.

****

The walk to the campus health center was short, but every step felt like a mile.
The quiet between us wasn't uncomfortable — just full. Maya didn't push me to talk, and I was too busy trying to keep my breathing steady. The sky had darkened a little, the amber glow of the walkway lamps flickering on one by one as we passed beneath them.

The health center was tucked between the library and a faculty building — a squat, beige structure with a buzzer-entry door and a window full of outdated pamphlets about mono and flu season. Inside, the waiting room buzzed with fluorescent lights and the low hum of an old macintosh computer behind the front desk.

The nurse on duty — a woman in her forties with curly hair, a lanyard of keys, and a pin that said Be Kind — I Give Shots — looked up as we entered.

"Can I help you two?" she asked, glancing between us.

Maya answered for me. "We were wondering if someone could check him out. Something's... off."

The nurse gave a polite but professional nod. "Okay. Let's get you checked in. Name?"

"Riley Whitlock," I said quietly.

She typed something into the computer, then handed me a clipboard with a short intake form and a pen attached by string. I sat down beside Maya and filled it out with stiff fingers. My handwriting looked messier than usual.

Once it was turned in, she led me back through a narrow hallway lined with faded posters about managing stress and eating more fiber. Maya followed without asking.

"Let's start with vitals," the nurse said, gesturing to the scale.

I kicked off my shoes, stepped on. The scale creaked faintly under me. She adjusted the metal sliders with a practiced hand, moving the top bar slowly... then again... then again. Her brow furrowed slightly.

"Huh," she said.

"What?" I asked, already tense.

She gave a quick shake of her head. "Just double-checking."
She slid the marker again, then tapped it back.

"According to this, you're 132 pounds. Is that normal for you?"

I blinked. "Last time I checked, I was around 148."

Her eyes flicked to the scale again. "Have you been eating okay? Any big changes in activity?"

"Soccer. Just started college practices this week. But I've been eating."

She nodded, not alarmed but clearly taking notes in her head.

"Okay. Let's check your height. Stand tall, back straight."

I did. She pulled down the measurement bar and adjusted it to touch the top of my head. Her lips pressed together.

"Five-seven," she said.

I blinked again. "No, I'm... I'm five-ten. I've been five-ten since sophomore year in high school."

She stepped back and glanced at the wall ruler, then looked at me. "Barefoot?"

"Yeah."

"No slouching?"

I straightened up even more, stretching my spine.

Still five-seven.

The nurse wrote something down on her clipboard, this time more slowly.

"Okay," she said, her voice calm but now more careful. "Let's get you into a room. I'll do a quick once-over and ask you a few questions."

Maya looked at me, her expression tight. I could see her trying not to panic for my sake.

I swallowed and followed the nurse down the hall, the tile cool under my socked feet.
My brain was buzzing.

I was shrinking.

And I didn't know why.

*

The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and lemon-scented floor cleaner.
The kind of scent that clung to your clothes after you left — sharp, sterile, and a little too clean to feel comforting. The fluorescent light above buzzed softly, flickering once like it had a nervous tic. Maya stood by the door while I sat on the exam table, the paper crinkling loudly under me every time I shifted. I kept tugging at the hem of my shirt, unsure where to put my hands.

The nurse washed her hands at the small sink, then pulled on gloves with a snap. The sound echoed in the quiet like punctuation.

"All right," she said in that neutral, I've-done-this-a-hundred-times voice. "Let's run through the basics."

She took my pulse — steady, if a little fast.
Checked my reflexes — normal.
Shined a penlight into my eyes — I blinked, but didn't flinch.
She even had me follow her finger back and forth, testing for dizziness or delayed reaction. I passed everything, even though my insides still felt like they were vibrating with static.

"Any pain?" she asked.

"No," I said, my voice careful. "Not really. Just... off."

She nodded and peeled off her gloves, tossing them in the bin with a casual flick. Then she scribbled something down on her clipboard and looked up at me with a softer expression. Her tone shifted — still professional, but gentler now, like she'd moved from routine to concern.

"Here's what I'd like to do," she said. "We'll get a blood draw sent over to the lab first thing tomorrow morning. I'd also like to refer you to Dr. Holtz — he's our campus physician. He might want to do a more in-depth evaluation, maybe some imaging."

"Imaging?" I asked, suddenly cold.
The word felt too big. Too serious. Like I'd just stepped into someone else's life.

"Just to rule things out. Rapid changes in weight and height aren't usually subtle. But you say you're feeling fine otherwise, so that's good."

Maya stepped closer, her arms folded tightly but her voice calm. "Can we set up the referral now?"

The nurse nodded. "Yep. I'll leave a note for the front desk to call you with the appointment time first thing tomorrow. In the meantime, keep track of any other symptoms — even small ones. Voice changes, body aches, anything unusual."

My throat tightened at the word voice, but I just nodded, silent.
I felt Maya's eyes on me — not judging, just there. Present. That helped.

The nurse gave me a smile — small but sincere. "You're doing the right thing by coming in."

She stepped out, leaving the door cracked slightly behind her. The hallway outside was quiet, muffled footsteps and distant printer noise drifting through the sliver of open space.

Maya looked at me.

"I told you," she said quietly. "You're not imagining it."