Shiv

Shiv had always been too bright for his own good. Not in the way of brilliance, but in the way of light: his smile, his energy, that restless optimism that pulled people toward him. He was the kind of gazelle who would walk into a crowded room and somehow make it feel like a picnic on a sunny day.

He grew up in the coastal district, near the warm saltwater pools that seemed to mirror the sky. Swimming came to him as naturally as breathing. He loved the way the water erased everything: the noise, the expectations, even his own body until all that was left was sensation. He liked to feel it glide along his skin, smooth and cool, the small ripples clinging to his fur like fingers reluctant to let go. Most days, he swam naked. He said it felt right, unburdened. He liked to float on his back, the stars scattered like spilled sugar above him.

After university, Shiv found work as a social media manager for a fashion brand based in the city, a brand that sold effortless luxury, which he embodied without trying. His desk sat in a glass office overlooking the street, where he spent his days curating images, writing captions that sounded casual but carried the rhythm of seduction. When coworkers passed by, he’d flash that easy smile and tease, "You have to make them want it, right?"

He understood want. He studied it the way others studied analytics. The flicker of a gaze, the pause before a laugh, the thumb that lingers over a photo. It wasn’t manipulation, more like intimacy in digital form. He was good at it because he liked people. He liked touching them with words, the same way he might brush a hand along a shoulder or lean too close when talking. He believed connection was something you could feel through a screen if you wrote it right.

Still, beneath the charm and softness, there was a kind of naivety to him. He trusted easily. He assumed good intentions where there weren’t any. He thought that giving himself -his time, his body, his attention- was always enough to keep others close. Sometimes it was; sometimes it wasn’t. He’d been hurt before, quietly, in ways that didn’t show. But he never let that dull the warmth. He just swam it off, like rinsing sweat and salt from his fur, surfacing with that same hopeful grin.

Ask anyone in the fashion office, and they’d tell you Shiv was the heart of the place: the one who remembered birthdays, who brought snacks to late meetings, who made even the most cynical model laugh. His boss once told him, half-joking, that he was too good for social media. He should be in front of the camera, not behind it. He’d only grinned, tilting his head. “I like watching people shine. Someone has to notice the light, right?”