The meeting
The walk back to his studio seemed to take forever. His leg braces made a familiar squeaking noise that reminded him to grease the joints of the braces when he got back to the studio.
When he finally reached the building where his studio was, he started to think about how much his life had changed since that fight. He had to find ways to live on his own. He had moved into his music studio because he was too young to buy his own house. Trying to get rid of the memories of the fight, he ran into the building. Not having the patience to wait for the elevator, he ran up the three flights of stairs.
By the time he reached the top of the stairs, he was full-on wheezing. Taking a short break there, he heard the ding of the elevator. Miles had always avoided the people in the building. He never liked people. This was his first time seeing someone here; he wanted to run, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the strength after running up three flights of stairs. All he could do was stand there, wheezing, with his hands supporting his upper body on his knees.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Miles braced himself, still gasping for breath. He wasn't sure what he expected—maybe a neighbor, maybe the building manager—but when the figure emerged from the elevator, his heart nearly stopped.
There she stood, all 5’11” of her. There stood Taylor Swift in all her glory. Miles had always admired her. As she walked out of the elevator, followed by what seemed to be a bodyguard, she stopped when she made eye contact with Miles. A worried look spread over her face as she saw him bent over his knees, trying to catch his breath. She walked over to him.
"Hey, are you okay?" Her voice was steady, tinged with genuine concern, her hand extending as if to offer support. Miles flinched instinctively, stepping back despite his trembling legs. He didn’t want help—didn't need help. Not after everything he'd been through. He had learned to manage on his own, and he wasn't about to change that now.
“I’m fine,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but the words came out harsher than he intended. “I’m sorry, that sounded a bit rude,” he immediately apologized. “It's okay, but you don’t look fine. Are you sure you’re okay?” Taylor asked. “I—I—I don’t know,” he stuttered. “How about we sit in the community area until you catch your breath?” she suggested. All Miles could do was nod.
Miles barely made it to the couch before his knees gave out. He rested his head against the headrest of the couch, continuing to try and catch his breath. He was no longer wheezing, but he still had a hard time breathing. He was so focused on trying to breathe that he didn’t notice that Taylor had joined him on the couch.
As he finally caught his breath, Taylor asked him a question—something he hoped could be avoided as he didn’t like talking much. “What’s your name, kid?” she asked. Miles stayed silent before standing up and speed-walking to his music studio, quickly closing the door behind him. This left Taylor sitting in the community area, confused. She had noticed the fear in his eyes as she approached him and also the way he flinched away from her touch earlier.
She wondered what she had done wrong and why the kid was acting this way. She also felt bad for scaring him. As she thought about it, she made up her mind and walked over to the closed door of his studio. She wanted to knock and apologize to the kid for scaring him, but she didn’t know how to phrase it.