for: @mayawollman location: Island Threads time: saturday, 11:30 am
Miles desperately fought back tears. This was extremely unlike them, to cry not just in public, but to cry in general. The bubbly personality of theirs burst into a thousand little fragile pieces, dragging Miles into a pit despair. All because he didn't look like that. It was childish he knew, but their gender dysphoria flared up, and it flared up bad. Made extremely terrible when he came downstairs in the morning, not into the soothing arms of their mother whispering ‘it’s okay meri jaan’ to drive away intrusive thoughts, but to a note saying that Mama Mahir will be making a trip the mainland. Miles made up their mind then, he would be pretty today.
Island threads was known for it’s funky colours, and Miles was sure surrounding themself with colour would drive of the dark thoughts that plagued them. Yellow to Van Gogh; the entire damn rainbow to Miles. Attempts were made to mix and match this and that, that and this, but to no avail. The day wasted away under lace and tulle, under frustrations and indecisions. Why couldn’t he look like that? The magazine cover taunted them since arrival, the model in her shiny glory; Miles knew that’s what he wanted to look like today. As he stared again, from her skin, her hair, her shoes, her teeth - all shiny and pretty. A glance into the nearby mirror had Miles turn away in disgust; he was matte, dull and simply wrong.
So, there he sat, on the steps of Island Threads, a sad slump of a person chipping away at their already chipped nail polish, sniffling as he waited for emotions to settle so he could go back and apologise to the staff that bore witness to that disaster; their personal battle - head versus body.
It was lucky Miles looked up when he did, spotting a passerby heading into the store, Miles waves for their attention, “Hey hey, psstt!! Can you please do me a favour, if you’re not too busy?”









