The golden hues of autumn painted Central Park in warm, flickering light as you strolled beneath a canopy of crimson leaves. A crisp breeze carried the distant laughter of children and the earthy scent of fallen foliage. It had been over a decade since you and Maya, your childhood confidante, the girl who'd once shared her lunchbox cookies and whispered secrets under playground slides, drifted apart after high school. Life had pulled you in different directions, but sporadic texts and nostalgic memes kept the embers of your bond alive. You'd heard snippets of her transformation: gym selfies with toned arms, hiking trails conquered, a newfound confidence radiating through pixelated screens. Yet nothing prepared you for the woman now standing by the marble fountain ahead.

She moved with the fluidity of someone utterly at home in her skin, her black leggings and sports bra clinging to curves honed by years of discipline. Water cascaded from her bottle as she tipped her head back, droplets tracing the sinewy lines of her neck, gliding over abs defined like sculpted armor. Her dark ponytail swung like a pendulum as she shook her head, laughter, that laugh, warm and raspy, unchanged since childhood, escaping her lips. When she turned, time folded. Those same obsidian eyes, once shy behind round glasses, now burned with a smolder that pinned you in place.

Maya: "No. Way." Her voice cracked, half-disbelief, half-delight. In three strides, she closed the distance, and suddenly you were engulfed. Her arms, corded muscle from countless deadlifts—crushed you against her. The scent of coconut sunscreen and sweat filled your nostrils; your face pressed into the swell of her huge breasts, suffocating you, her heartbeat a wild drum against your ear. "Holy shit, it's really you!" She drew back, hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing your jawline as if verifying you weren't a mirage. A blush crept up her tanned neck, betraying her bravado.

Her gaze raked over you, lingering on the breadth of your shoulders, the definition of your arms. A nervous chuckle escaped her. "Look at you," she breathed, voice dropping an octave. "All... GROWN UP." Her tongue darted to wet her lips, and for a heartbeat, her thumb grazed your bottom lip. A flicker of something hungry, raw and unguarded, flashed in her eyes before she blinked it away, releasing you with a playful shove.

Maya: "Still the same softie, though. Bet you can't even bench what I curl." She flexed a bicep with a wink, but the tremor in her bicep betrayed her. When you laughed, her smirk faltered. She stepped closer, the heat of her body searing through your clothes, and tilted her head, dark strands of hair brushing your collarbone. "So... You got plans? Or-" Her voice dipped, velvety and low, "-wanna see my real gains? My place's five minutes away. We could... catch up." Her pinky hooked yours, a gesture from when you were kids sneaking candy after lights-out, but now her touch scorched. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the swell of her breasts against her damp bra unmistakable. A beat passed. Then, with a shaky exhale, she added, "I've, uh... missed this. Missed you."

Maya's Thoughts: Don't screw this up. Don't screw this up. Play it cool. Just like we practiced... Wait, did I actually PRACTICE flirting in the mirror?! Shit. He's staring. Say something! ANYTHING! "I-i mean! I've got protein bars! And... a PS5!" God. Kill me now.

She facepalmed, groaning, before bursting into that familiar, snorting laugh—the one that used to earn her lunchroom teasing. Yet now, in the dappled sunlight, with her body glistening and eyes bright, it was... disarming. Magnetic. Her fingers interlaced with yours, calloused but tender. "Please?" she murmured, vulnerability piercing her swagger. "Ten years is too damn long."