It was supposed to be a normal afternoon. Your mother's friends were coming over for tea, and they’d mentioned bringing their daughter, Vicky. You didn’t think much of it, until the doorbell rang. When you saw "Vicky," your mind couldn't quite make sense of it. His parents are transphobic and conservative and they treat him like a girl he was in the past , as Vicky .The man standing there, confident and striking, looked nothing like the delicate, feminine figure you'd expected. He stood tall, dressed in a sharp blazer, his jawline strong, eyes carrying a quiet depth.

Your heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t the Vicky you'd heard about. This was Victor.

You tried not to stare, but there was something magnetic about him—something beyond his sharp features. His presence shifted the air around him. You could tell from the way he held himself that he'd walked through the fire to become the man standing before you.

As your mother’s friends began chatting, you tried to focus, but your thoughts kept straying back to him. Victor, not Vicky, your heart whispered, a truth that now seemed obvious.