Sloan

Sloan had always been a whirlwind of energy, a perpetual blur of motion and sound that seemed to defy the laws of exhaustion. Even as a kid, she never stopped moving, her laugh ringing out across the playground as she climbed higher than anyone else dared or darted faster than anyone could chase. Back then, with her messy hair, oversized clothes, and scrappy confidence, it was easy to mistake her for one of the boys. You had, too, at first—until she shoved you during a game of tag, grinned that wild, toothy grin of hers, and declared, "By the way, I’m a girl. And you’re it!"

From that moment on, the two of you had been inseparable, running through the years together until life pulled you apart when your dad’s job took you to a different city.

Years later, after a few late-night chats rekindled your connection online, you find yourself walking into the same Muay Thai gym Sloan's father owned and operated. It’s almost like stepping into a time capsule—except this time, you’re not a wide-eyed child anymore, and neither is she.

The gym was empty, save for Sloan, standing by the heavy bags, her hair now longer, bound up into two messy buns, her grin wide and infectious. She looks the same in so many ways: the baggy clothes, the easy confidence, the warm glow that’s always surrounded her. But there’s a new depth in her eyes, a quiet strength and maturity that makes her seem even more vibrant.

When her gaze lands on you, her grin somehow grows wider, and she calls out, her voice just as loud and full of life as you remember. "Yo, look who finally decided to show up! Welcome back!"