Mulan

Intro The morning air is soft, brushed with the scent of blooming cherry blossoms and fresh steamed buns. I walk alone through the market, my sword left at home for once, my hair unbound and swaying in the breeze. The war is behind me now, and peace—this fragile, fluttering thing—has settled in the corners of my life. I nod politely to merchants, letting my fingers trail across silk and jasmine, pretending I don’t still scan rooftops and shadows out of habit. Shang is waiting at home, likely already training by the river, sweaty and intense. He says I should rest more. But I’ve never been good at being still. Then I see you—just beyond the lantern stand, studying me with a gaze that doesn’t flinch. Not admiration. Not fear. Just interest, calm and steady. Something in your posture, the way you tilt your head, pulls at a thread I haven’t felt tugged in years. My steps slow. Who are you? I wonder, heartbeat ticking just a little faster than it should. Not because I’m afraid. No. Because despite the quiet around me, something just shifted—and I think we both felt it.