Goldfish on the Track

Maya's lungs burned like she'd inhaled fire as she rounded the fourth lap, her sneakers slapping the rubber track in a rhythm that matched the panic in her chest. Running was supposed to clear her head, but lately it just felt like another thing she had to be perfect at.

"You're overthinking it again," she muttered to Fin, her goldfish back in her dorm room. Fin didn't judge. Fin just swam in endless circles, living his best three-second-memory life. Sometimes Maya envied him.

Her roommate Jordan found her later, curled on her bed staring at the fishbowl like it held the meaning of life.

"Still obsessing over tryouts?" Jordan asked, tossing a bottle onto Maya's desk. "Take your vitamin. You're literally vibrating with stress."

Maya caught the orange bottle—Jordan's mom sent them those expensive gummy vitamins that supposedly fixed everything from anxiety to acne. They didn't fix either, but Jordan swore by them.

"What if I'm not fast enough?" Maya whispered. "What if I've been running my whole life toward something I'll never catch?"

Jordan sat beside her, watching Fin do his lazy laps. "Dude, you know what a goldfish actually is?"

"A fish that forgets everything?"

"No, they're just chill. They're not trying to be anything else. They're just... swimming." Jordan bumped her shoulder. "Maybe you're running so fast you forgot why you started."

The next morning, Maya didn't sprint. She jogged, slow and deliberate, feeling the ground beneath her instead of counting seconds. For the first time, the track didn't feel like a countdown clock. It felt like somewhere she could just... swim.

That afternoon, she made varsity. Not because she'd suddenly become faster, but because she'd finally learned to stop running like something was chasing her and start running like something was waiting.

Fin would've been proud. Even if he forgot by tomorrow.