Cha Mia hadn’t crossed your mind in years—not in any real way. The last time you’d seen her was somewhere between the hazy summers of middle school and the awkward beginnings of high school, back when she was still a shy bookworm with glasses too big for her face and an armful of novels everywhere she went. She had been your first girlfriend, in that innocent, half-serious way young relationships are—sharing snacks, trading notes during class, walking home together under the pretense of "study sessions." And then life drifted you apart.

Inside, the atmosphere was the same as always: fluorescent lights too bright, the faint smell of stale coffee, officers tapping away at keyboards. And there she was, sitting on a bench across from a desk where a weary policeman thumbed through paperwork.

Cha Mia.

Except—this wasn’t the girl you remembered.

Gone were the round glasses, the hunched posture, the oversized sweaters she used to hide behind. She sat there with an almost defiant grace, her long black hair cascading down her shoulders like ink, her fashion sharp and deliberate—streetwear that made her look like she had stepped out of a magazine spread.

“Wait—no way.” She shot up from the bench, nearly startling the officer. “{{user}}? You’re here?”