Chapter 7 - Shopping

  I slide on a pair of mom shoes—still a little big, but fine for a quick trip. The plain T-shirt dress feels acceptable. Not great. Just enough.

  Outside, I open the car door and pause.

  It feels… roomy.

  Last time I sat in here, everything had been a tight fit. Knees too close to the dash. Shoulders brushing the door. Now the space feels generous. I adjust the seat, then glance at Mom with a small smile.

  “Flying is going to be fun,” I say, already imagining future flights without the usual cramped misery.

  Mom chuckles, warmth settling into her eyes. “You’ll probably keep growing for a while longer, sweetheart. Who knows—you might end up close to my height.”

  “Six feet, huh?” I shrug. “I’ll take it. Still five inches shorter than before, though. So how long before I get there?”

  She considers, slipping into that thoughtful, almost clinical tone.

  “If we’re using humans as a comparison, our aging process lines up pretty closely through adolescence. So by sixteen, you’d be where you are now. Around sixty, you’ll look like a young adult. After that, growth and aging slow until it’s barely noticeable by a hundred.”

  She glances ahead, then adds, softer, “In our truest forms, your grandmother looks about twenty-one by human standards.”

  I absorb this quietly. It’s more information than I expected to get on a car ride.

  The mall comes into view, glass and concrete sliding past the windshield. By the time we park, the moment has passed. As we step out, the lightheartedness dissolves, reshaping itself to fit the public space.

  Inside, I stay close to Mom.

  The mall is polished and spacious, filled with a low, constant hum—footsteps, distant voices, soft music bleeding from storefronts. People drift past in loose currents. Every glance raises my guard just a fraction higher.

  This world is comfortable on the surface.

  It doesn’t feel that way from the inside.

  Mom’s presence anchors me. Her warmth beside me is steady, familiar, grounding.

  We pass an Urban Streets store, and something in the window catches my eye—sleek dark clothing, clean lines, muted colors. It feels like a fragment of myself staring back.

  Finally, something that clicks.

  I slow, then turn to Mom.

  “I’m going to take a quick look here. Meet you back in fifteen?”

  I can tell she doesn’t love the idea, but she nods anyway, offering a small smile.

  “Fifteen minutes. Don’t get lost, okay?”

  I promise with a nod and step inside.

  The shift is immediate.

  Mall noise dulls to a distant murmur. The lighting softens. Racks of clothes stand in neat rows, organized by size and style. A measurement chart hangs on the wall, converting everything to centimeters.

  Training slips in automatically: assess, adapt.

  Thanks to Mom’s recent tape-measure obsession, I know every dimension of this new body.

  A cute voice cuts gently through the quiet.

  “Can I help you find anything?”

  Something in the tone snaps me out of my focus. I turn to see a girl about seventeen, dressed in streetwear with an air of confidence. Her gaze lingers a beat too long on my outfit, clearly trying to decide what to make of it.

  At least she has taste. That much is obvious.

  “Yes, actually. I’m wearing my mom’s clothes, and I need something that fits.” Not technically a lie—Mom bought and picked these, and the shoes are definitely hers. “Combat-style pants. Black. Boots to match. For the top? I’ll leave that to your judgment.”

  I’m genuinely excited to change back into something I’m vaguely familiar with. It’s different, but close enough.

  “Oh… yes, of course,” she says. “I was trying to figure out your preferences.”

  “Preferences? Female?”

  I watch her blush before she quickly turns and walks off to find what I need.

  As I mentally sift through my what-did-I-just-say moment, it dawns on me.

  Oh.

  Yeah. I can see how that landed.

  It’s accurate—just not how I meant it. In hindsight, the chances she was asking whether I wanted men’s clothes were pretty low. Just another thing to get used to.

  She waits outside the changing room after handing me several items to try.

  I lace up my boots, tucking the excess laces under the tops of my socks. Heavy cotton black military pants are bloused at the tops of the boots. A familiar task—but that’s where the similarity ends.

  “My ass looks amazing in these,” I hear her giggle from the other side of the curtain.

  “Oh—hey. Did you find any good shirts for me?”

  Her hand slips through the curtain holding something black and neon pink.

  “This will go nicely with the pants. I’ll be able to judge better once you’re fully changed. Your current outfit hides your shape, so it’s tough to choose.”

  The new shirt is snug and long enough to cover the top of the pants. No worries about accidentally revealing skin. Not that it matters—every contour shows anyway.

  The graphic on the front is a bunny girl holding a sniper rifle.

  I like the contrast between the feminine-style shirt and the boyish pants. Well—sort of boyish. They do a great job of emphasizing certain features my other pants never did.

  Or maybe it’s just the new body.

  Either way, the look works.

  “I’m dressed if you want to take a look.”

  I strike a subtle pose in the mirror, watching how the reflection meets me back. It fits perfectly, yet something still feels unfinished.

  She tilts her head.

  “Hmm. It’s the hair.”

  With careful hands, she gathers it, teasing out two sections to frame my face while pulling the rest into a high ponytail.

  “There,” she says, stepping back. “It suits you. This style accentuates your neck—and adds a bit of… presence.”

  I study myself.

  She’s right.

  The look feels balanced now. Less like dress-up. More like something that actually belongs to me.

  A faint smile slips out before I can stop it.

  Time—how long have I been here?

  Startled, I gather Mom’s borrowed clothes, folding them neatly and slipping them into a bag. I thank her with a quick nod, sparing no extra time, and head for the meeting spot.

  “Barely on time,” Mom says, raising a brow—then she takes in the new look.

  Her expression softens, touched with quiet pride.

  “You’ve made it work somehow,” she says. “It’s young. Stylish. And just right for you.”

  I catch something else in her eyes. Something almost sad.

  Maybe I remind her of someone. Or something lost to the past.

  “So. Phone and watch next, right?” I say lightly. “A girl has needs, and this is all on you, Mom. Your poor daughter’s been left suffering.”

  She relaxes once she realizes I’m joking. No laugh—just a soft smile, appreciating the effort.

  The phone and watch are the easiest part. Latest models, matte black, sleek and unassuming.

  But clothes?

  I’d let my guard down at Urban Streets, thinking maybe this would feel normal.

  It doesn’t.

  The staff are polite enough. The clothes are fine. But it’s just rows of colors, scripted smiles, and bland sales pitches. I find myself checking the clock more than once, waiting for it to be over.

  “Mom, I think we have enough.”

  Relief edges my voice, threaded with impatience.

  We’ve gathered basic outfits, sleepwear, and a few pairs of shoes. Nothing extravagant. Functional.

  And right now, that’s enough.

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  I’m done with this place.

  She raises an eyebrow, amused.

  “You’ve done well, sweetheart. And, believe it or not, it’s been fun watching you.”

  Her eyes narrow slightly—not judgmental, just observant.

  “One thing I noticed, though—you’re used to openly observing girls. Maybe that’s part of how you’ve lived so far?”

  I blink, caught off guard.

  “I mean… kind of?” I shrug. “My eyes are just drawn to people I find attractive. Who doesn’t look?”

  Her smile turns thoughtful, almost teasing.

  “Oh, everyone does. But girls tend to be more subtle.” She tilts her head. “I noticed some of the girls in the store were watching you too, though you seemed to overlook it.”

  I frown, turning that over.

  “I figured it was just the usual guy attention… didn’t really notice much else.”

  She chuckles softly.

  “Exactly. Girls observe differently—more with glances than stares. You’re adjusting to a new dynamic, Vala. It’s natural, but something to keep in mind.”

  A small knot forms in my chest—not because of the attention, but because of the realization. So much feels different. There’s an entire layer of awareness I haven’t fully adjusted to yet.

  “Noted,” I say, keeping it casual.

  “Let’s head back to Urban Street for one last look, hmm?” she suggests, gently steering me back toward the task at hand.

  By the time I finish processing Mom’s latest piece of advice, I’m being half-dragged back into the store.

  It’s busier now. Still, one of the assistants glances over with a flicker of surprise.

  It’s the same girl who helped me earlier.

  She looks close to my current age—though younger than my past self—and that disconnect trips me up for a moment as my mind gets stuck in overthinking mode.

  Mother, guided by some internal compass I’ll never fully understand, heads straight for her.

  I catch the name tag as we approach.

  Sachie.

  I repeat it quietly to myself.

  When I look up, she’s already meeting my gaze.

  “Yes?” she asks, bright and genuine.

  Before she can say more, Mother steps in.

  “Good afternoon, Sachie-san. Do you receive commission for high sales?”

  Sachie’s eyes light up, and she nods.

  “Sort of, yes. I might get a bonus during performance reviews.”

  It’s a nice thought—that she could benefit from this—though a quieter voice reminds me: she’s just doing her job. Good at sales and cute. Stop reading into it.

  I glance at Mom and find her watching me, her gaze warm and encouraging. I nod back, and that inner voice softens, if only briefly.

  I turn back to Sachie, meet her eyes again, and let myself trust—just a little—that the warmth there is real.

  Mother gestures toward me with calm approval.

  “This is my daughter, Vala. We’re hoping to find a full wardrobe that really suits her.”

  Sachie’s eyes brighten as she looks at me, a spark of interest unmistakable.

  “Vala-san,” she says with a respectful nod. “I’d love to help. Did I do something to deserve this? I mean—I’m honestly thrilled!”

  Her gaze stays a fraction longer than necessary.

  I keep my expression steady, offering a small smile.

  “Apparently, I’m… complicated,” I say, throwing a dry glance at Mother.

  She returns it with a knowing smile.

  Mother places a steady hand on my shoulder.

  “I thought it might be good for you to connect with someone who has a sense for style and detail.”

  Sachie nods, her expression softening.

  “Well, Vala-san, I’m really looking forward to putting something together for you. Should we start with a few essentials, or go all in?”

  I nod.

  “Essentials first. Maybe add a few formal dresses,” I say evenly. “Just in case. It’s probably good to have something for… future events.”

  Mother’s approving nod doesn’t go unnoticed, and Sachie’s smile widens as she picks up on the shift.

  As she begins selecting pieces, there’s a quiet enthusiasm in her movements—a genuine energy that suggests this is more than just a job.

  I feel my sour mood evaporate as I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

  “Okay. From formal to sleepwear,” I say. “Formal Gothic Lolita—three sets, mid-length skirts. For streetwear, variations on what I’m wearing now. Same aesthetic, nothing flashy. A couple with hoods would be nice. Sleepwear—five cotton sets. Conservative. Family-safe.”

  I hesitate, then add more quietly, “And… two that are less conservative. Something I’d feel comfortable wearing in front of a girlfriend. Unless I missed anything?”

  Sachie lights up immediately.

  “Yes. Yes, I can totally help with that.” Then she pauses, grinning. “Girlfriend, though? Not a ‘friend who’s a girl,’ right?”

  I give her a look.

  She laughs. “Okay, cool. Just checking. And Gothic Lolita—anime influence?”

  I sigh, but there’s a smirk in it. “Is that supposed to be controversial? I don’t hate guys or anything—I’m just not interested. And what’s wrong with liking anime?”

  “Nothing at all,” she says quickly. “I’m right there with you.”

  She laughs, then adds, a little softer, “Single here too. Last girlfriend didn’t work out, but honestly? I’m kind of enjoying it right now.”

  Her eyes flick over me—quick, curious, openly appreciative.

  I catch it and laugh.

  “Oh?”

  She doesn’t even pretend she didn’t.

  “Hey,” she says, shrugging. “You walked in looking like that. That’s on you.”

  “Oh?” I reply, meeting her gaze with a smirk. “I’m not accusing you of anything—but that’s reassuring.”

  Her grin widens, catching my tone.

  “Okay, Vala-san. Let’s actually have fun with this,” she says. “You’d probably look good in almost anything, but the military vibe? Kind of a waste.”

  She tilts her head, studying me.

  “Not bad,” she adds. “Those pants definitely like you.”

  “So,” I ask, “do you already know my size, or are we doing measurements?”

  She laughs.

  “That’s literally how I met my ex,” she mutters, half to herself, then looks back up at me. “But I can usually tell by eye. If you trust me.”

  She hesitates, then shrugs.

  “And I mean—it’s just us girls. If you want me nearby to grab sizes or swap things out, that’s totally fine.”

  I give her a look, amusement flickering in my eyes.

  “That’s fine,” I say. “I mostly just don’t want to make things awkward.”

  She laughs, a little embarrassed. “Fair. And yeah—store policy is pretty strict about what people can try on anyway.”

  I notice Mom catches the exchange, offering a warm, slightly knowing smile. I give her a small confused look as I try to keep up with the situation.

  “Sachie-san, feel free to help Vala with whatever she needs,” she says. “I’ll be right over there if you two need anything.”

  She gestures toward a plush chair a few steps away and settles into it with relaxed patience.

  Sachie gives a quick nod, cheeks faintly pink, and we drift toward the sleepwear section together.

  We stop in front of a mannequin wearing a simple cami two-piece. Thin straps, soft fabric, nothing dramatic—comfortable without trying too hard. Even on plastic, it somehow looks inviting.

  I brush my fingers over the material and nod to myself.

  “I want those in every color.”

  Sachie lets out a quiet laugh. “Bold choice.”

  She leans closer to inspect it, then glances back at me.

  “Okay, yeah. I see the vision,” she admits. “But maybe try one first? Just in case.”

  Her eyes are fixed on the outfit, and she smiles like she’s already mentally planning color combinations.

  I smirk faintly.

  “Sure, Sachie-san. It’s just us girls, right?”

  She gives a small laugh. “Right. I’m just here to make sure you don’t end up with something that looks good on a hanger and terrible on a person.”

  “That would be unfortunate.”

  She gathers a few sizes and hands them over. “Try these first. I’ll wait right outside.”

  Inside the stall, I change without rushing. The fabric is soft, light against my skin. Comfortable in a way that doesn’t ask for attention.

  When I step back out, Sachie looks up.

  She takes a second before nodding.

  “Yeah,” she says. “That works.”

  I check my reflection. She’s right. It doesn’t feel like I’m wearing a costume.

  “It looks like you,” she adds. “Relaxed.”

  “That’s good.”

  She smiles, then gestures lightly toward me. “You have good posture. It makes everything sit better.”

  I huff quietly. “That sounds like a polite way of saying something else.”

  She shrugs. “Maybe. But it’s true.”

  She hands me another option. “Try this one too. Just to compare.”

  I take it.

  “You like doing this,” I say.

  She doesn’t deny it. “I like helping people find things that feel right.”

  There’s no edge to it. Just genuine enthusiasm.

  As I turn back toward the stall, I notice how the moment has settled. Still friendly. Still aware.

  Just two girls in a store, figuring things out.

  And somehow, that feels…nice.

  “Hmm. Not bad,” I murmur to myself while trying on the yoga outfit she just handed me. “I probably wouldn’t go outside like this, but I’ve definitely seen people wearing something similar.”

  I feel Sachie’s attention on me, and in the mirror I catch her reflection as she looks me over—quick, curious, unguarded.

  “Oh,” she says. “Yeah. You’ve got some definition. Everything lines up really well—shoulders, waist. You carry it naturally.”

  I glance back at her with a faint smile. “Observant.”

  She laughs. “Occupational hazard.”

  I step back toward the bench to change into the next option, and when I come out again, she gives an approving nod.

  “That one works too,” she says. “Different vibe, but still you.”

  I take that in quietly.

  “Thanks,” I reply. “I kind of needed this.”

  Her expression softens, the teasing easing into something more sincere.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I figured.”

  There’s a brief pause, then she clears her throat lightly.

  “And for what it’s worth? Your future girlfriend is going to appreciate your taste.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Statistically speaking, that’s optimistic.”

  She grins. “Hey, even a minority is still a lot of people.”

  I huff out a quiet laugh.

  Undecided, I change back into the first cami set, letting the soft fabric settle against my skin. When I step out again, I catch my reflection—comfortable, understated, not trying too hard.

  Sachie gives a small nod.

  “Looks good, Vala-san. Simple, but intentional.”

  I lean forward toward the mirror, taking it in properly this time. She’s right. It fits without asking for attention. It feels like something I chose.

  “Okay,” I say. “Yeah. This one’s staying.”

  She smiles, satisfied.

  And somehow, that’s exactly what I needed.

  “Um, Vala-san… do you trust me with your wardrobe? I could be wrong, but you don’t really seem eager to try on more, and your mom’s been waiting a while.”

  Thinking about it, I reply, “Sure. And if you’re suggesting I leave it all to you, please do.”

  That gets a squeal from the now very excited Sachie-san.

  “You’re the best, Vala-san! Now I can take my time and plan everything. I’m sure you’ll love it—and I’ll stick hard to your vibe, so no worries about that.”

  As I finish tying my boots after changing back, I notice Sachie waiting for me. I smile, taking the hand she offers as we walk back to where Mom is waiting. The two of them start organizing the details of my new clothes, chatting happily.

  Thanks to her help, the whole shopping trip ends up being reasonably pleasant. It’s with some reluctance that we finally say goodbye, having organized everything we needed.

  As I walk away, I can’t help but feel a sense of hope. Today reminded me that there are people out there who understand, who just… get it.