Birdsong tickled the air, rising high and swooping low in irregular time with the flutter of Senna’s heartbeat. Every breath tasted sweet, clung to her lips and tongue. The warm breeze brushed her skin like so many tender fingers, eliciting nervous, excited shivers. None of that mattered; Senna could think only of the woman sitting beside her.  Brooke hadn’t said a word since her initial greeting, but Senna could feel her gaze; it called to Senna, inviting her to stare long into those eyes until she could look nowhere else. But she couldn’t; Senna was frozen. She hung limp, dangled by suspense. Then, like the first drop of melted snow heralding a thaw, Brooke broke the tension. 

“So,” she began, speaking with careful deliberation. “This might sound weird, but have you noticed anything off today? Anything different?” Of course she had. Everything felt inexplicably off, like a novice plucking a string instrument adjusted to some obscure tuning, Senna could tell the notes harmonized well, but none of them made a lick of sense to her. Did Brooke see it too? Nobody Senna had seen seemed to care. Was it just the two of them lost in a world that no longer made sense? In a way, that was a little romantic, wasn’t it? Surely Brooke could help her make sense of it all. Still, the cautious parts of Senna’s mind urged candidness. She wouldn’t want to come off as a crazy person.

The very second Senna looked up to meet Brooke’s gaze, she remembered why she’d been avoiding it. “D-different how?” She stammered. 

“I dunno. You ever hear about that thing, the Mandela Effect? It feels like things aren’t the way I remember them being and it doesn’t really seem bad, just… off. Then I saw you and I mean, I’d been meaning to track you down but just now it felt like, I dunno, like I needed to talk to you. Like it was what I was supposed to do.” As she spoke Brooke began to edge closer to Senna, rising just enough to loom over her. It was only when she noticed Senna leaning back, gazing up at her, wide-eyed and lips parted in an anxious gasp, that Brooke realized what she was doing and quickly adjusted to a more neutral posture. “Sorry,” she blurted. “Dunno what that was, it was like, subconscious or something. Any look—I know we’ve had our differences and stuff but something weird is going on, okay?” 

Senna had already found herself staring intently at the ground again and struggled to squeak out a meek affirmative hum. Was Brooke trying to kill her with embarrassment? She was sitting so close and just—the way she looked at Senna. So much intensity, so cool, so in control, so dreamy. It was all Senna could do to keep herself from sighing like some sort of dopey schoolgirl. Keeping her eyes fixed firmly on her shoes, she mumbled a stammering reply. “I um—I s-suppose I’ve m-maybe seen a couple of th-things that seem a bit off, y-yeah.” 

“What was that?”  Brooke asked. “You’re kind of hard to hear.” Before Senna could muster the courage to reply she felt Brooke’s hand cup her chin, drawing her gaze back toward Brooke’s. Senna yelped so loud that she was absolutely certain any passers-by must have heard, must be looking at her, must be seeing Brooke touch her like this. It was fair, her fingers were so soft against her cheek and all Senna wanted to do was just lean into them like some needy lost kitten and now she was looking into those eyes and her lips were quivering and—surprise bloomed across Brooke’s face as she suddenly withdrew the offending hand. And Senna was definitely grateful about that, any residual disappointment she thought she felt about the whole thing was clearly just her senses being on the fritz because of how overwhelmed she was. 

“Ah fuck, I did it again.” Brooke didn’t seem to notice Senna flinching at her profanity. “See this is the shit I’m talking about. I didn’t even consciously notice I was doing that until I saw that panicky look in your eyes and I just—” Brooke leaned in closer, so close Senna could feel the heat of her crush’s breath on her neck, then, as quickly as it began, Brooke sprung back. “See? I just did it again. You have this like, aura around you. Like I just wanna protect you? But also take you. Make you mine.” Her voice grew lower, huskier, dripping with promise. “It’s like you’re this precious little bird. So innocent, so pretty, and I wanna hold you in the palm of my hand, but also, I want to pounce on you, remind you who you—what am I even saying?” Senna sat spellbound, every word caressed her senses, left her disoriented, dizzy, heart pounding, face flush, body aching, and then, without warning, Brooke drew away, clamping her mouth shut and blushing nearly as deep as Senna was. 

Brooke took a moment to compose herself. With palpable tension, she forced herself to continue, practically chewing every word before she allowed it to leave her lips. “You see what I mean, don’t you? Like, our school used to be different, right? And you—you’re different. You’re acting different. You’re dressing different. You hate me. Why aren’t you yelling at me? Cussing me out? Insulting me?” 

Shame. Senna knew shame of course, but she’d forgotten what real shame felt like. Sure, sometimes—very, very rarely—Senna would have desires which were way too embarrassing to think about, but that was nothing compared to the reminder of how cruel she’d been to Brooke. Drawing her knees to her chest, Senna rested her chin on herself then hugged her legs. “I never hated you,” she mumbled, just barely audible. 

The pause which followed stretched long enough that Senna was starting to wonder whether Brooke had heard her at all, but just as she was working up the courage to repeat herself, Brooke responded. “You didn’t?” 

Huffing to herself, Senna shook her head. She wanted to say more, so much more, but how could she? How could she ever say how she truly felt? Besides, Brooke was never going to forgive Senna for the way she’d acted, let alone reciprocate. 

“Me neither, to be honest,” Brooke replied. “To be honest I was kinda just mad at myself, mad for looking at some pretty, queen-bitch wannabe and feeling anything but contempt.” 

Senna barely heard the last bit. Instead, her thoughts were churning, swirling around one focal point which towered over other word out of Brooke’s mouth. “You—you think I’m pretty?” It couldn't be real, Senna must have misheard or misunderstood. 

“Of course I do!” Brooke sounded almost offended. “I mean, I especially like the outfit you’re in right now, but even before I always thought you were pretty.” Without another word, Brooke scooted closer again, then reached out and took Senna’s hand in hers. Reflexively, Senna followed the motion and found herself captured by those shimmering brown eyes once more. “Listen, I get how hard it can be. Sometimes you look in the mirror and you still see that wrong person. But you shouldn’t listen to that voice. I look at you and I see nothing but a pretty girl, I promise.” Brooke flashed her a comforting smile, and squeezed Senna’s hand just right. Though truthfully Senna’s surprise hadn’t come from any lingering dysphoria, she had neither the words nor the wherewithal to explain that, not with Brooke looking down on her like that, not with those soft, warm, safe hands clasped around hers. 

Melted by the blazing heat of Brooke’s passion and cooled by the gentle acceptance reflected in her eyes, Senna was cast into the shape of the moment. Brooke held her gaze for uncounted seconds. Her brow furrowed and lips tightened as she took in every facet of Senna’s lost, needy expression. She sighed,chewed her lip, then let go as her expression relaxed into a warm smile. Senna could see it now, the course of the next few moments carved into Brooke’s face. Tender fingers brushed Senna’s cheek; she shuddered, and Brooke began to lean closer. This was it; Brooke was going to kiss her. Anxiety, embarrassment, and shame churned in the pit of Senna’s stomach, but such feelings were nothing compared to waxing desire. Senna wanted to feel Brooke’s warm, soft lips parting hers; she closed her eyes, and leaned in. 

Like the sharp crack of a whip Senna felt her legs spring into action, snapping her up to a standing position and whirling around. No, no, no no, she’d wanted it; she’d wanted it, but she couldn’t. It was wrong. A pounding in her head reminded her that, hammering it over and over again. This was wrong. 

“Senna? Are you okay? I’m sorry if I…” Despite being mere feet away, Brooke’s words sounded distant, muddled. 

“I need to go,” Senna choked. Before Brooke could respond or Senna could come up with any sort of further explanation her legs kicked into gear once again, hurtling her across campus and back toward home. 

The moment before their lips had met Senna had seen it, rendered before her eyes in intricately drawn black and white panels. They would kiss and Senna would melt into Brooke. She would sink into that call of the void and become the meek, shy, sweet Hina to Brooke’s suave, confident, but troubled Kei. But in that moment, faced with the call of that pastel, flowery void, Senna had felt something kick inside her, a single moment of crystal clarity reminding her of the sharp edges she’d somehow lost. As though a lifeline, Senna had reached out to those feelings and clutched them in the palm of her metaphorical hand. And though its rope sliced her palms, Senna clung all the same; the alternative was far worse, wasn’t it? She wouldn’t, she couldn’t let herself become some soft, pathetic little thing. Resentment, that was an effective one. Resentment toward her situation, toward the way she’d been feeling and acting all day, toward Brooke with her dumb pretty face and her gentle, caring demeanor and—she needed to not think about Brooke. 

Eyes cast downward to avoid such humiliating reminders of what she’d been reduced to, Senna stormed home as quick as her shaking legs would take her. She slammed the door to her apartment and blew past a bewildered looking Lanie right into her bedroom, slamming her bedroom door as well just for good measure. Safely in the confines of her own space Senna flung herself into bed and screamed into a pillow. What the f—heck—had happened to her. Senna froze and bit her lip. With careful, deliberate movements of her lips and tongue Senna began to speak. “What the f—ugh. What the fu—? This is so f-f-fucked. F-fucked. This is so f-fucked up.” Each successful swear sent a pang of shame and guilt through her, which only served to make Senna more angry, which only served to make Senna feel more guilty because nice girls like her weren’t supposed to get angry and—a throaty scream of frustration erupted from her throat as she fell back onto the bed and pounded her fists against the mattress to little effect.

A few deep breaths later, Senna forced a bit of relative calm and took stock of her situation. It seemed as though some switch had been flipped in her brain. Like whatever neural pathways and habits and modes of thinking that formed the proverbial default setting of her brain had been reconfigured to something, or someone, else. But none of that mattered, she was still herself, could still be herself; she just needed to focus, to keep her guard up and a close eye on her subconscious. With the right effort, she could go back to being who she was, and hopefully unlearn all this weird meekness. A plan began to crystalize in her mind, first she’d need a thorough examination of herself. Plus her surroundings, as those had changed too. Sitting up in bed, Senna clapped her hands against the tops of her thighs.  “Let’s get this gosh darn stuff over with then.” Senna winced, she might need a bit of practice. 

Initial efforts to figure out what had happened to Senna provided few, if any surprises. The more she examined herself, her emotions, her ‘default’ behaviors, the more it became clear to Senna that whatever had happened was trying its best to make her into the spitting image of some stereotypical shy cutesy girls’ love protagonist. Similarly, her whole university seemed to now be the stomping ground of a veritable rogue’s gallery of every girls’ love trope under the sun. She wasn’t even entirely certain half the students there even went to class. Nevertheless, Senna remained undaunted. Every day she practiced her old affect, dressed the way she used to dress, scowled as she walked through the halls, fighting the urge to cast blushy smiles at every pretty girl she locked eyes with. She’d even managed to start swearing with minimal stammering, but she could never shake the shame, the guilt from saying something so crude. Most importantly, she avoided Brooke like the plague.  

Really, it was all quite miserable. She was fighting herself at every turn. But none of that mattered, Senna was certain she would soon break through her stupid brain’s stupid tendencies and reclaim her past as, well, as a normal gosh darn person. And maybe she’d had a bit of a mean streak, but that was fine, it was who Senna was, right? Of course it was, even if every time she was too mean to someone she had to run and hide somewhere to cry. That was fine, she had a plan, a plan to finally break her shackles, and return to normal. It was quite simple, really: Senna was going to seduce another girl and take her to bed. 

Of course, the idea of taking such an initiative with someone was nearly as nerve wracking as the idea of doing—that—with some girl was mortifying. It was just so improper and, and shameful and she’d never even kissed anyone before—except she had. She’d done a lot more than that too. Senna was sure she had, it didn’t matter that the memories were fuzzy and that even so much as trying to recall them shut her down completely. She was going to do this. And once she succeeded, it would break the dumb cage around her brain so bad that she would burst free and go back to normal. But it was hard, very hard. As much as she wanted to succeed in her plan, Senna could not deny that she very much did not want to do something so scary and lewd. Especially not with just some random girl. And maybe, maybe if it was with the right girl it would be okay, maybe with someone like Br—Senna cleaved that thought before it could form. She was going to do this. She even had a girl picked out: Hailey Prescot. If she could manage to take charge over anyone, it had to be that stammering, blushy baby-gay, right?

So, on a bright, sunny afternoon, Senna found herself forcing her feet to drag the rest of her forward toward a lone Hailey, browsing her phone in the Student Union Building. Dread gripped tighter with every step, but somehow Senna found the will to press forward. She stopped an arms length away, and cleared her throat. “Uhm, H-Hailey?” 

To her surprise, Senna had spoken loud enough for Hailey to actually hear her. Hailey looked up, and gave a curious smile. “Did you need something, Senna?” Her tone suggested she was surprised Senna had even managed the courage to speak to her. Senna hardly noticed though, she was far more occupied with the weight of the moment. 

“I was, um, I was w-wondering if m-maybe you, um. Maybe you’d want to, well—you’re, you know, I think you’re really nice and pretty and I was wondering—”

As Senna spoke, Hailey’s eyes seemed to widen, as her lips parted in a sudden gasp of disbelief and understanding. “Senna, are you trying to seduce me?” 

Senna was certain she’d never blushed so hard in her life, except maybe in front of Brooke. Words wouldn’t come, so she simply shut her eyes and nodded. Hailey just giggled, and stood. She felt a hand rest on her forearm, and Senna opened her eyes; she was face to face with Hailey, who was grinning at her impishly. 

“I’m surprised you had it in you, to be honest,” Hailey mused. “Well, honestly you’re not usually the type of girl I fantasize about asking me something like that. But you’re certainly pretty, and I guess I could show you the ropes. Besides, there’s something about you that’s just bringing out a dommey side I never knew I had.” She took a step forward, and placed a hand on Hailey’s thigh. “My place or yours? My girlfriend left her strap at mine. I could try it out on you, if you’re interested.” Hailey gripped Senna by the wrist, tugged her hand, and placed it against the swell of Hailey’s breast. And that was it, nope, no, no no no. Her whole vision went white as Senna staggered back, her cheeks a molten red and eyes cast downward. This was too lewd, too much. Tears were forming in Senna’s eyes. How could Hailey just proposition her like that, didn’t she know Senna wasn’t like that? 

Hailey was saying something, but Senna didn’t hear her, she was already running away. She’d failed; she was a failure. Was this it then? Was she forever doomed to living under the thumb of this crushing shy innocence? Senna didn’t have time to consider the answer; next thing she knew she’d collided into something firm, and strong, but soft. She stumbled, and for a moment, Senna flew in a terrifying arc toward the floor. A pair of strong hands and strong arms caught her, righting her against an equally strong and safe body. Senna eased her eyes open and found herself looking up into Brooke’s face. Her knees buckled. In that moment, Senna realized the terrible truth; she was caught in a snare, a hair’s breadth from total defeat. So why was her fear matched with equal parts relief?