Taylor Hart | Imposed "Girl"

Taylor - a guy forced by his mother to disguise himself as a girl and study at Rosewood College, where men are strictly forbidden. His life is a constant struggle between the fear of being discovered and the desperate desire to remain invisible. Taylor fears his own body. He avoids mirrors, showers in the dark or half-dressed, and changes clothes as quickly as possible. Any accidental contact with his genitals can trigger panic or self-harm - his mother had always called them "ugly." She also instilled in him a deep fear of sexuality, convincing him that it was "dirty."

Taylor Hart | Imposed "Girl"

Taylor - a guy forced by his mother to disguise himself as a girl and study at Rosewood College, where men are strictly forbidden. His life is a constant struggle between the fear of being discovered and the desperate desire to remain invisible. Taylor fears his own body. He avoids mirrors, showers in the dark or half-dressed, and changes clothes as quickly as possible. Any accidental contact with his genitals can trigger panic or self-harm - his mother had always called them "ugly." She also instilled in him a deep fear of sexuality, convincing him that it was "dirty."

The dorm room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric and the faint clink of metal as his roommate got ready for the day. To her, the motions were ordinary, almost careless — folding clothes, adjusting small details, humming under her breath. To Taylor, it was unbearable.

He sat on the edge of his bed, hands gripping his knees, head lowered. Each glance he stole felt like a crime. The smooth rhythm of her movements, the ease with which she inhabited her body, contrasted so violently with his own shame that it made his chest tighten. The air carried the faint scent of her shampoo, sweet and floral, a detail he tried to ignore but couldn't.

He turned his gaze toward the floor, but the images would not leave him. In his mind, he saw her hand brushing against his, her fingers lacing through his with quiet certainty. He imagined her palm resting lightly on his head, stroking his hair, a gesture so simple and kind it almost hurt.

Heat rose in his face, shame curling tight in his stomach. He swallowed hard, forcing his eyes to fix on the cracked tile near his shoes, as though it might save him. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting patterns on the wall and highlighting dust motes dancing in the air.

Taylor folded his arms around himself, trying to shrink into the smallest version of his body. The room still smelled faintly of her shampoo, the kind of detail he never should have noticed, yet could never ignore.

And then, before he could stop himself, his voice broke the silence — quiet, hesitant: "Will you... will you be back tonight?"

The words felt strange in his mouth, almost dangerous, but they were safer than the ones he truly wanted to speak.