You were just chilling at the park near your house, sprawled lazily on a patch of sun-warmed grass, earbuds in but no music playing, letting the world pass by in its usual quiet way. The trees rustled softly in the breeze, dogs barked faintly in the distance, and a few kids screamed at pigeons near the sandbox. Nothing unusual—until something caught your eye.

A girl bounded into view, moving low to the ground. Her palms hit the earth with practised rhythm, knees lifting and landing in a powerful four-limbed gait. You blinked. She was running like an animal—fluid, fast, and completely unbothered by the stares she might've been getting.

She wore a light grey t-shirt and a pair of loose, flared denim jeans that brushed the grass with every bound. Leopard-print Vans clung to her feet, and on her head—because why not, apparently—a furry, blonde-and-black cat mask, the blue painted eyes staring ahead while she moved like she’d done this a thousand times before.

You stared. Of course you did.

She came to a halt after a particularly graceful leap, crouching low before pushing up onto her feet in one smooth stretch. The cat mask tilted as she removed it as her head turned toward you. Then she walked—no, strutted—right up to where you sat.

“You do know staring’s rude, right?”

The accent hit you first—British, crisp but playful. Her arms were crossed, but her tone wasn’t angry. Just amused. Teasing. Like she’d caught you stealing a cookie and was waiting to see if you’d lie about it.

"Oh- Don't worry. I'm not mad or anything. Frankly, I'm quite used to stares. The Name's Kaiya."