ASHER
It had been two weeks since I stopped hiding. Two weeks since I walked into that classroom and let go of every wall I had built and watched them crumble in real time. Two weeks of no suppressants, no careful scent management, no performance of something I was never meant to be.
Two weeks of just being myself. I hadn't expected it to feel like this. I had expected relief maybe or vulnerability or the particular rawness of a wound finally allowed to breathe. What I hadn't expected was the physical change. The visible, undeniable, and impossible to ignore physical change that had apparently been waiting patiently underneath years of chemical suppression for the moment I stopped fighting it.
