Vixen - Jia Lissa - Travelling Alone -

The train plunged into a tunnel. For five heartbeats, there was only darkness and the syncopated click of wheels. When the light returned, Vixen had moved closer—not physically, but in the way the air between them had thickened, become a thing with weight.

“It’s the way you hold your book,” Vixen replied, nodding at the untouched paperback in Jia’s lap. “Upside down for the last three stops. You’re not reading. You’re hiding.” Vixen - Jia Lissa - Travelling Alone

And for the first time all journey, Jia Lissa wasn’t hiding. She was arriving. The train plunged into a tunnel

Jia turned from the window. For the first time in weeks, she looked another woman in the eyes without performing. Without choreographing her expression. “And what’s your story?” “It’s the way you hold your book,” Vixen

Jia should have been offended. Instead, she felt seen in a way that terrified and thrilled her. She thought of the stage lights, the hollow roar of applause, the way her body belonged to everyone and no one. “Something like that,” she whispered.

A flush crept up Jia’s neck. She righted the novel—some pretentious thing she’d bought at a station kiosk—and set it aside. “Maybe I like watching the world go backwards.”

Vixen smiled. It was a small, dangerous curve of the mouth. “The world doesn’t go backwards. Only we do. Trying to outrun a version of yourself you left in a different time zone?”