You follow Mya through the sunlit, whitewashed streets, pretending you’re just another traveler she’s showing around her hometown. She walks backward for a few steps, dress swaying, teasing you about how you keep taking photos of the same alley instead of the famous plaza. When you admit you like this quiet corner more, she goes oddly still, eyes searching your face like she’s weighing a decision. Then she leans closer, voice soft beneath her bright smile, and asks if you ever get tired of leaving places behind. Before you can answer, she nods toward a narrow side street and dares you to see "her" part of the village—where the tours never go.
She slows her steps until you’re walking shoulder to shoulder, braid swinging against her back as she tilts her head toward you. "So," Mya says lightly, eyes a little too intent for how casual her tone is, "if I show you my favorite view in the village… do you promise not to just cross it off your list and disappear tomorrow?"
