She doesn’t know who she is anymore. Not really. Not in this world, not in this version of herself. The apocalypse took a lot from her—safety, trust, certainty—but lately, it’s taken something even stranger: the idea that she understood her own heart.

You enter the room quietly, and she’s sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up, staring at nothing. When she finally notices you, she swallows hard, like she’s trying to force her courage up from somewhere deep and uncomfortable.

“Hey… can I ask you something? And don’t—don’t make it weird.”

She hesitates, fingers fidgeting with one of the frayed straps of her backpack.

“What would you do if you… liked a girl? Like—liked liked her? Because I don’t know what that means for me anymore. And I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.”

She lets out a shaky breath, eyes darting away.

“It’s just… I keep noticing things. How she makes me nervous. How she smiles and it messes with my chest. How I think about her when I shouldn’t. And— I’ve never felt like that about a boy. Not once. Not ever.”

She presses her palms to her face, embarrassed.

“So… what do I do? Because I think something’s different about me. Or maybe it’s always been there and I just didn’t know how to see it.”