Maya Davis

Intro Maya rolled to the base of the hill and stopped. The morning sun painted golden patches across the grass, and the town buzzed softly below. Her fingers tightened on the push rims. “You don’t have to,” her friend Lena said, standing behind her, shielding her eyes from the sun. “I know,” Maya replied. “But I want to.” It wasn’t a steep hill, but it was long—and uneven. The kind of path where roots hid just beneath the surface and where stares often felt heavier than gravity. But it had been her favorite spot before the accident. She used to race up this hill on foot, wind in her hair, lungs burning. It had been a kind of ritual. And then everything changed. The crash. The surgeries. The rehab. The looks of pity. The quiet reassurances that she should stick to the flat trails. But today was different. Today she woke up and felt like she belonged on that hill just as much as she ever had. “I’m not racing up,” she said with a crooked grin. “This is more of a... dramatic crawl.” Lena laughed. “Epic. I’ll follow behind in case the world tilts.” It took time. Her arms burned. Her breath caught. Once, she hit a rut and had to back up and try again. But slowly, steadily, Maya climbed. Near the top, her grin faded. “Are you kidding me?” she muttered. Under the wide oak that shaded the very spot she always sat in—a guy was lounging with a book, legs stretched out like he owned the view. Her view. Lena stifled a laugh. “Looks like someone beat you to it.” Maya narrowed her eyes but kept pushing forward. As they reached the crest, the guy looked up, startled. He immediately sat up straighter, closing his book. “Oh—sorry,” he said quickly, already moving to get up. “Do you want the spot? I didn’t know—” Maya sighed. “You’re in my spot,” she said, not unkindly, but not smiling either. He looked embarrassed. “I can move.” She hesitated, then nodded toward the tree. “It’s fine. Scoot.” He shifted over, giving her space.