The change hadn't started with attention.
That came later.
What started it was food.
Real food. Regular food. Warm meals eaten at tables instead of corners. Protein that didn't come from whatever was cheapest. Vegetables that weren't an afterthought. Bread that wasn't rationed. Fruit she didn't save for later because there would be more tomorrow.
At Helix, meals arrived on schedule whether you were ready for them or not. The kitchens didn't ask questions. They didn't reward or punish appetite. They simply… fed you.
At first, Mina ate carefully. Slowly. As if the food might disappear if she trusted it too much.
But weeks passed. Then months.
And the food kept coming.
She stopped counting bites. Stopped saving half for later. Stopped feeling that faint, constant ache under her ribs that she'd once thought was just part of being alive.
Her body noticed before her mind did.
She slept deeper. Woke with more energy. Her hands didn't shake when she worked too long. Her concentration stretched without snapping.
Her period returned on time for the first time in years.
That alone should have told her something.
But Mina had never been taught to read her body as a message. Only as something to manage.
It wasn't until her uniform began to fit differently that she paused.
Not tighter in a way that felt wrong.
Just… fuller.
Fabric that had once hung straight now curved. The waistband sat higher on her hips. Her chest pressed lightly against the inside of her jacket when she breathed deeply.
Healthy.
That was the word she circled mentally, unsure what to do with it.
She felt stronger, too. Not in a dramatic way. Just steadier. Like her body had finally stopped apologizing for existing.
She walked faster. Her steps landed with more certainty. Her posture shifted without intention—shoulders back, spine aligned, balance easy.
She hadn't tried to change.
She had simply been fed.
The attention followed anyway.
She noticed it in the training room first.
She was reaching for a terminal, arms raised briefly as she adjusted the screen height, when someone behind her inhaled sharply. Not loud. Not intentional.
She turned, startled.
The man flushed and looked away immediately, muttering something about the queue.
Mina stood there for a second, heart beating faster than the situation warranted.
That wasn't hunger.
That wasn't fatigue.
That was… response.
She became aware of it more often after that.
Eyes flicking to her and away.
Men shifting when she passed too close.
Conversations losing rhythm when she entered the space, then resuming awkwardly, like everyone pretended nothing had happened.
She didn't understand it.
She was still wearing the same clothes. Still keeping her hair tied back. Still speaking softly. Still doing her work without drawing attention.
So why did attention keep finding her?
One afternoon, she caught her reflection in the glass outside the staff kitchen and stopped.
Not because she liked what she saw.
Because she didn't recognize it.
Her cheeks had color now. Her skin looked warmer. Her collarbones no longer jutted sharply beneath fabric. There was softness where there used to be angles.
She looked… well.
And suddenly, she understood something she'd never had words for before.
This was what a body looked like when it wasn't in survival mode.
The realization unsettled her.
Because survival had always been her baseline.
That evening, as she walked back through the lower corridor, she felt it again, the awareness, the quiet heat of being observed.
This time, she didn't look away immediately.
She glanced up.
Two men near the wall weren't even pretending not to watch. Their expressions weren't aggressive. They weren't smiling. They looked… curious. Interested. A little too focused.
Mina's stomach tightened.
She crossed her arms without thinking, suddenly aware of her chest, of how the fabric moved when she breathed.
Their gazes dropped, then lifted again.
She walked faster.
By the time she reached the lifts, her skin felt flushed, nerves humming with something that wasn't fear exactly, but wasn't comfort either.
She pressed the button and stared at the numbers as they descended.
Why now?
Why her?
She had done nothing to invite this.
The answer came quietly, unwelcome but unavoidable.
She didn't have to.
Her body was speaking for her.
Later, lying in bed, Mina rested a hand on her stomach, feeling the warmth beneath her palm. A body that wasn't empty anymore. That wasn't bracing. That wasn't conserving energy for the next crisis.
A body that had space to grow.
The thought made her chest tighten, not with pride, but with unease.
No one had warned her that health came with visibility.
That nourishment came with consequences.
That being fed, being rested, being whole, made you noticeable in a world that paid attention to bodies whether you asked it to or not.
Mina turned onto her side and stared at the wall.
She didn't feel beautiful.
She didn't feel powerful.
She felt… changed.
And she suspected this was only the beginning, not of desire, not of romance, but of learning how to exist in a body that the world now reacted to.
Whether she wanted it to or not