"Gwen, to answer your question, and probably many others about how I managed to do what I did, it's because I'm wealthy."

"So, you're like Batman?" I asked with a playful smile.

Ian laughed. "Yes, but more like Lego Batman. I can easily fit into many Lego sets."

We both laughed, and he flashed that beautiful smile. Ian was undeniably handsome. It was just…just his Size. If I could just get past the squeaky voice and the fact that he was only a little longer than my hand and forearm, I might be willing to give this a go.

"So," Ian continued, "I applied for the program, and I got accepted. My parents purchased and renovated a farmhouse and property near a tiny village west of Edinburgh. I boarded a private medical jet, isolated from the crew in a special cabin, wearing a respirator and a biohazard suit. I landed at a private landing strip near Edinburgh and was transported in a special isolation van to my cottage. Once again, I found myself in an isolated space in the middle of nowhere."

I burst into laughter. "Well, of course, you wee idiot! Did you honestly think you'd be allowed to rent a flat and wander the streets of Edinburgh freely? I mean, what would have been the point? Your parents must have shelled out millions for this!"

Ian shot me an annoyed look. "Still using the word 'wee,' are we?"

I shrugged with a playful grin. "Well, yeah, I picked that up from you, remember?" Ian fell silent, and I could tell my last remark had struck a chord.

"Sorry, Ian," I said, feeling guilty. "You know I don't always have much of a filter."

"It's fine," he replied, dismissing it. "Anyway, to answer your question, you giant ginger…"

I burst into another fit of laughter, nearly bending over from the hilarity of it all. It took me a moment to regain my composure. "That was a good one! I've never been called a 'giant ginger' before. "Well executed, Mr. Kenyon, admirably executed indeed, good sir." Dammit, it was tough to resist his wit and charm. We were slipping into our old Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet-style banter, something we had always enjoyed. His rich imagination was one of the things I loved about him. We both had a strange passion for inventing characters, skits, and songs, and he played along so wonderfully. Our online conversations often veered into the quirky and absurd, but I wouldn't have changed them for anything.

Ian flashed a charming grin and executed a slight bow. "Thank you, Miss McCauley. I perceive that your sense of humor remains unscathed despite the affronts of this evening. As I was about to elucidate before I was regrettably and most discourteously interrupted..."

"Oh, pray forgive me, Mr. Kenyon. I beseech you, continue!"

We both broke down in laughter.

“As I was saying” Ian replied still stifling a laugh, “I was isolated, but Scotland was a bit different. Yes, I was in another cottage, but I had the Highlands at my doorstep. The property bordered the Trossachs National Park. I even had an electric car, and..."

"Wait. You had a driver's license?"

"Well, yes."

"How on earth? I mean, I passed the online written part when I was 16, but with the fuel rationing and the farm equipment, we could never scrounge up enough gas to do the driving proficiency test. I finally got my license just last year. And you? A Nexie. How?"

Ian seemed embarrassed as he spoke about his wealth and privilege. "Um, well... We had enough property on the estate to set up the proficiency test. We simply put some traffic signs up and mounted cameras on the car, so no one had to be in the car with me."

"But that's not how the test..."

"Money," Ian admitted sheepishly. "I know, I know. It was a crazy time, and people were willing to look the other way for a handout. It wasn't ethical, but my parents just wanted me to be safe and happy. Though I understand that doesn't make it right."

Ian was taking the scenic route to explain why he concealed his Nexie survivor status, but honestly, I no longer cared. He'd already admitted to being a coward, in his own words. He'd merely wanted to keep this hidden, likely knowing, quite accurately, that it would be a relationship deal-breaker. My anger still simmered, but as I sat there, listening, I realized that hearing his story was oddly cathartic for me too. Most of our evening had been spent in a whirlwind of frustration and shock over his secret, without truly processing this new reality of our relationship. Setting my anger aside, and simply listening, felt like a decent starting point. It didn't excuse his actions, nor did I feel obliged to give him anything more than my ear. Nevertheless, it seemed like this was a story he needed to share, and I believed he deserved to be heard. Despite everything, I couldn't deny that I still saw Ian as a fundamentally good man who had, in this particular instance, behaved poorly. As I looked at him, I couldn't deny that I was still very much attracted to him. Well except for the obvious stumbling block of him standing only a foot and a half tall.

Ian grinned. "It was nice, Gwen. I mean, I went full native, or at least what I imagined was native. I had a cozy cottage, morning tea in hand, and evening dram by the fire. I'd take long drives through the countryside, and I could step right out my back door to explore the stunning park nearby. Of course, I kept a respirator in my backpack, just in case, but it was all so remote that I rarely needed it. And if I had to avoid people, I had all the space in the world. As for my other needs. Food and supplies were brought to a storage shed located just inside the property, and classes, of course, were online. My supervisor insisted on making a monthly trip to visit me... well depending on the weather. We would meet outdoors, both clad in hazmat suits, and I had an assistant who helped with gathering materials and handling any in-person tasks.”

“Wow, that was some setup, I could have used an assistant to help me schlep the mountain of crap for my program.”

Ian smirked, teasing me. "Jealous?"

I giggled and shook my head. "Nope," I replied with a grin. "Being a broke grad student builds character and muscles, you know."

Ian’s tone became serious, “Gwen, I know I had the means to... “

I decided it was time to put an end to his self-imposed guilt. “IAN, I. AM. NOT. JUDGING.

YOU! Seriously, you need to stop apologizing for being rich. I'm just being snarky. It’s not like you’re telling me a story of how you wasted your parent’s fortune on hookers and drugs. I completely understand why you did what you did. You just wanted a shot at being an independent adult and chasing your dreams. It's not your fault you had to go to such lengths to make it happen."

“I know Gwen, but I do feel guilty for even complaining. So many more people had it so much harder than me.”

I nodded, understanding. "I get it. But it's not a competition. We all faced our challenges during those tough years. You, as a Deadender, spent most of that decade in isolation. No matter the help you had, it must've been incredibly tough."

“I guess.” Ian replied grudgingly.

"You did Ian, you had it tough too,” I replied quietly. “There’s no guessing about it.” I looked up at Ian apologetically. “Sorry, I’m not trying to argue...I just care…well you know” My voice drifting off. “So!” I exclaimed, changing the subject. “Back to your story. It sounds like your life in Scotland was simply enchanting. So, spill the tea, when did your luck take a nosedive?".

Ian laughed. "Always straight to the point, aren't you?"

I rested my chin on my hand, tracing the rim of my wine glass with the other. "No filter, ‘member?"

Ian grinned. "That's one of the things I adore about you, Gwen."

I nodded, eager to hear the rest of his story. "Alright, spill it. What happened?"

"It was early March, a typical Scottish weekend. I was in the midst of my second year of grad school, and it was one of those rare days when the skies cleared up, and the weather decided not to freeze my toes off. After enduring a month and a half of gray, rainy misery, I was itching to bask in some sunshine. So, I planned to make a day of it, and decided to hike up to Ben Ledi."

I laughed, "Of course, Scottish weather being Scottish weather, I bet it turned on you."

He nodded, his eyes distant. "You guessed it, and as fate would have it, the sun began playing hide-and-seek behind clouds, and a heavy mist descended upon me. Yet, I soldiered on. The trail up the mountain is usually bustling with hikers, so I'd developed a habit of veering about 30 yards parallel to the trail, if possible, to stay safe. It made for a rougher trek, but it was worth it. That day, though, the trail was deserted, and I reveled in the peacefulness. Just me, the Highlands, and the weather. Towards the middle of the day, I took a breather and settled down for lunch. I was perched on a boulder on the side of the trail next to a stand of gorse. “

I made a face, imagining the chilly dampness. "Sounds like quite the chilly, wet hike."

Ian grinned, “Det finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlig klær.” He replied with a laugh.

“Wha, what?” I asked laughing.

Ian laughed “There is no bad weather, only bad clothes!” It’s a Norwegian saying. One does not trek through the Highlands without proper clothing. I was warm and dry, and I had a very nice lunch.

“You speak Norwegian?”

“No, I’m just fond of that saying. I loved hiking, and sometimes, the worse the weather, the better the hike.”

“Loved Hiking”; I couldn't help but notice the past tense. Did he still carry that passion, or had it faded like an old photograph? I mean, he appeared quite fit, probably a necessity in a world dominated by giants. But realistically, I doubted he could conquer that mountain now. What I considered a pleasant stroll around Mint Springs Park would likely be a long hike for him. I did love hiking; I know everyone says that. I know, it's a common response when someone asks about your hobbies or when you're trying to impress someone new. But in my case, it wasn't just lip service. I'd spent countless hours trekking along the AT in Shenandoah National Park. I'd even experienced the peculiar joy of hiking in the pouring rain and the hush of a snowy forest. But now, a dark sadness swept over me as I contemplated the idea of sharing even a simple walk with Ian. Even if I was wearing heels he couldn’t keep up with me, not even on a flat sidewalk . Sure, I could carry him around in my backpack. He weighed less than three pounds, after all, so his weight would be trivial. But honestly, carrying my boyfriend in a backpack wasn't a romantic scenario I'd ever envisioned. I'd much rather have him by my side, hand in hand, exploring the world together.

"So, do you remember what you had for lunch?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"Of course," Ian replied, his eyes distant as he recounted the memory. "I remember everything from that day. It was the last day of being normal. I was sitting on that boulder with a hot thermos of tea, alongside some cold smoked salmon, rowies, cheese, and strawberries."

"Lipton?" I inquired with a playful smile.

"No! Do you think I'm some barbarian?" Ian exclaimed, feigning offense. "It was Taylor's Yorkshire Gold, of course!"

"Of course!" I replied giggling.

"With sugar, and a dollop of milk," Ian added.

"Well, that would be scandalous to drink tea without sugar and milk," I replied, feigning shock.

"I'm pleased; you know your way around a kettle," Ian said with an impish grin.

"Ian, we've had this discussion before. I know waaaaay more about the brewing and drinking of tea than you do."

"I would beg to differ," Ian grumbled in faux irritation.

I rolled my eyes, not in the mood for this old debate. "So, moving on. What's a Rowie?"

"You're very interested in that lunch," Ian observed suspiciously.

"Well, I'm just curious. What's wrong with that? From what I remember, this started from my question of why you didn't tell me you were an Opa. Since we're in the middle of your story, I think it's proper to ask questions for clarification."

"I take it you want me to get to the point," Ian replied.

"No, I didn't say that. I'm actually interested. So, please, take your time."

"A Rowie is a Scottish bread, a cross between a roll and a croissant," Ian explained.

"That does sound delicious," I replied teasingly.

"It is," Ian replied with a wistful smile. "It was the most perfect day. I was just sitting on a boulder, watching the low gray clouds pass over the heather. I remember closing my eyes, enjoying the warmth of tea in my hands, and the smell of coconut from the newly blooming gorse. I was startled by a woman's voice. I had my back to the trail and hadn't noticed them approaching. Two Scottish girls, around my age."

"Aha!" I exclaimed with a grin, leaning forward in anticipation. "The plot thickens. So, you didn't freak out? Run away? Scramble for your respirator?"

Ian's expression darkened, and he spoke softly, "No, I didn't. I guess I should have... But, Gwen, I was just so tired. Tired of running, tired of being afraid. Tired of being lonely. I was face to face with two pretty college girls, and I just gave in."

"I understand, Ian. Again, I'm not judging," I reassured him. "So many people made the same decisions that year. So, who were these mysterious Scots-women?"

"The chatty one was Moira," Ian replied, his voice lifting as he recounted the memory. "A petite redhead with a heavy sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and nose. The other one was Katie, a bit taller, blond hair, and more reserved. They asked if they could sit next to me and share a lunch."

"Wow, that's bold. I thought the Scots were more reserved," I remarked.

"Actually no," Ian explained. "As my observation, I've found them to be friendly, maybe not as outgoing as the Irish. These two were over the moon that they were having a trail lunch with an actual American."

"Why? What's so amazing about us?" I asked with genuine curiosity.

"Well, they haven't seen any Americans before the pandemic," Ian said with a smile. "It was so funny, the way they gawked at me when I opened my mouth. They had so many questions. They loved my accent and wanted to hear me speak. To be fair, I loved theirs too. It was fun! No, more than fun. It was just glorious. Being alone for so long with very few chances to talk to anyone in person. I can't really describe the feeling. Being with people up close, just chatting in the mist and gloom. Moria's laughter was so infectious, and Katie had a quick wit." Ian shook his head ruefully. "I'm sorry, I must sound like a dork... 'Hurrr, Hurr! Look, it’s two girls!'"

Listening to Ian, I was hit with another wave of empathy. I felt another tear running down my cheek. I knew where this story was going, what it led to. Yet, I understood why he had been so careless. I could feel his loneliness and the sheer joy of simply chatting with two pretty girls. I couldn't imagine what it was like to spend years with nothing more than disembodied voices on a screen.

Ian noticed my wet cheek, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

With a reassuring smile, I wiped away my tears and replied, "You didn't. I think after your isolation, your reaction is perfectly normal. Do you remember that old Tom Hanks movie, 'Cast Away'?"

"Vaguely, is that the one where he's stranded on an island and talks to a soccer ball?" Ian asked.

"Yeah, his character sorta reminds me of you..." I began, but Ian interrupted with a laugh.

"Well, it wasn't that bad. I never talked to a soccer ball, but I did once converse with a very friendly football," Ian admitted, looking up at me with a cheeky grin.

"You're such a smart ass!” I replied laughing. “I know it wasn't that bad, but in a sense, you were on a deserted island. I don't think you're a dork for gushing over two pretty girls. So, what happened to you and your two new friends?"

Ian began, "I planned to ask if they wanted to join me, but they beat me to the punch and asked if they could tag along with me to the summit. Then that was that. We spent the rest of the day climbing up to the summit and hiking back down to the trailhead. I discovered they were two undergrads from Edinburgh off on a three-day holiday to the Highlands. They were staying with Katie's parents in Callendar. So, we talked, flirted, laughed, and took selfies. "

"It was just this amazing experience, like a dream or a fantasy. We parted ways at the trailhead. The girls were walking to their car when Moira turned around and ran back to me, reached up and gave me a long kiss. It was so fast. I couldn't stop her even if I wanted to. I was shocked, frozen in place. I think the last time I was kissed was in middle school. I can still feel her hands holding my face. Moira was so tiny; I doubt she was more than 5'2". She had to stand on her tip toes to reach me. She brushed the red hair from her eyes and gave me her number. She ran back to her car giggling. It was the last time I ever saw her."

"And that was that," Ian finished with an air of finality.

"And that was that," I repeated, sadly.

Ian looked away wistfully, his gaze lost in some distant memory. As he turned back to me, his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly.

"Don't be," I replied, my heart aching for him.

But deep down, a question gnawed at me, one I was hesitant to voice. Was it worth it? The sacrifice, the risk, all for one kiss. A horrible disease passed along by a pretty wisp of a girl. Yet, I knew it wasn't fair to ask that of him. My dad, the history professor, would have called it "miasma" - bad air, a concept that, in centuries past, Europeans believed caused the Black Death before they discovered germs. My dad had a way of making history come alive, and his students loved his dramatic lectures. The word "miasma" seemed fitting for this disease too, as it seemed to lurk everywhere, carried in every breath we exhaled. The virus was twice as contagious as measles and lay dormant in most of us, passed along with every exhalation.

Ian could have easily caught it from just walking within 30 feet of anyone along a trail. The only way to truly avoid infection was complete isolation, and most of us weren't built for a life of solitude. So, in a twisted sense, I guessed it was worth it. Eighteen inches for one kiss. Better than catching it on a crowded bus to a dead-end job, or in a busy supermarket checkout line. Thinking about this, I felt a strange rush of jealousy. I wished I were the one who had kissed Ian, who had held him close and taken him to my bed. But then guilt washed over me. What if I were the one to infect him? Or worse, what if he never caught the disease, and I remained forever out of reach, unable to touch or be close to this amazing man I had grown to care for so deeply?

For Ian, the danger had passed, and he was now safe. Safe to rejoin the world, to touch and feel once more, even if he was only 18 inches tall. That was the price he had paid for immunity, and it was a price I had to come to terms with as well.

Ian wiped away a tear, his emotions still raw, and took another long pull from his straw. I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him.

"Ian," I began gently, "I know this doesn't make it any better, but I'm glad you experienced that day. It sounds like it was truly special."

Ian managed a sad smile, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and nostalgia. "It was, Gwen. That kiss... it's a memory I'll always cherish. I still think of Moira as tiny, I doubt I'd even come up to her knees now. But I have these incredible memories from that day. Probably the best day of my life until I met you. Still, sometimes I dream about Moira and Katie…Weird dreams."

"Weird Dreams?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Ian looked down, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "It's nothing, really," he replied, his voice softer now. "My therapist mentioned that men, especially bigger or athletic men, can have a tough time adjusting to being... reduced."

Ah, those dreams, I thought, recalling the recent reduced persons diversity training I had attended. One chirpy facilitator had lectured on Reduction Adjustment Disorder, and her presentation led me to connect the dots. Men were more prone to this disorder, and one of its manifestations was intrusive thoughts of emasculation. This was another potential minefield. Depending on his self-esteem and my tendency for unfiltered remarks, I could inadvertently wound his ego, reducing him to feeling as tiny as a mouse.

The word "emasculation" danced through my thoughts, casting a shadow of self-awareness. It served as a constant reminder of our stark size differences, making me acutely conscious of how I must appear, towering over him. My intention was never to make him feel less than a man, but at 18 inches tall he was physically at least …well…less. I was much bigger, not just bigger, but much faster, much stronger. Ian at least physically was no more than a helpless kitten compared to me. My greatest fear was that, in a thoughtless moment, I might inadvertently vocalize these unsettling assessments.

"I can't imagine those dreams are pleasant," I said, my voice soft with empathy.

"No, they're not," Ian replied with a heavy sigh.

"Did you ever try calling Moira?" I ventured.

"No, I don't know what I would even say," Ian replied despondently, his gaze falling to the ground. His words hung in the air, creating an awkward silence that begged to be filled. But I sensed it was best to let that subject drop.

"I take it you got sick shortly after?" I inquired gently.

Ian let out another sigh, his eyes distant. "That night, after walking home. I should have known better. Well, deep down, I did. I just didn't want to face the life-altering decision I had made. I was a mess of emotions, Gwen. Excited, angry, scared. Excited about the possibility of a girlfriend, and furious with myself for being so delusional. I walked back to my cottage, mentally berating myself for my recklessness, and hoping against hope that I wouldn't be infected. But a few hours later, the fever hit me."

"So, you called 911?"

Ian chuckled wryly. "In Great Britain, it's 999, and no, I didn't call. I got drunk.

My mouth dropped, “Ian, you’re such an idiot! Why!??”

I thought calling for EMS would be admitting the inevitable, and I wasn't ready to face that reality just yet. Instead, I decided to do some normal-sized things before I started shrinking." Ian's voice grew somber. "Unfortunately, the only 'normal-sized' thing I could think of was downing a man-sized shot of whiskey. That led to a few more, chased by some beers. I turned on the TV and watched one of the first isolation-waived matches between the Hibs and the Celts. My mind bounced between worrying about infection and the oddity of watching football in March, which was way off-season."

Anyway, I started feeling worse. I kept thinking, maybe I'll luck out. Perhaps it won't be so bad, and I'll just end up on the taller side, like three or three and a half feet. Not great, but still more or less human-sized. I repeated that over and over like a mantra, as if it could protect me from shrinking. To be honest, the last thing I remember was being drunk and feverish, yelling at the match. Then I just passed out." I woke up to something shaking me, my vision filled with a massive, gloved hand pressing down on me. My gaze traveled upward to meet the eyes of the largest woman I have ever seen, peering down at me. I freaked out. Panic surged through me, and I tried to bolt up, but the giant's hand slid up to my chest and effortlessly pushed me back down. Then, from behind me, another giant woman appeared. It slowly dawned on me; the women weren't giants. They were just two normal-sized nurses, and I was in a hospital. They informed me that I had been in a light coma for a little over a month. I had shrunk, really shrunk. Later, I found out that I was in the 90th percentile of size reduction. I was so weak, even the useless effort of shaking off the nurse's hand had exhausted me. I just laid there, tears streaming down my face. I had spent ten years hiding from this disease, and it was all over now. So much effort for so little."

As I sat there listening to Ian's story, I felt my anger and resentment from earlier melting away. I loved Ian, and hearing about his loss was heart-wrenching. Despite my discomfort touching him, I wanted to pick Ian up and hold him.

"Ian, I'm so sorry this happened to you."

"Thanks, Gwen. I appreciate your kind words, but I'm not special. This happened to billions of people across the world."

I rolled my eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. Sometimes, Ian's humility drove me crazy, and this was definitely one of those times.

"Ian," I said, my voice softening, "I know that, but all I care about is that it happened to you, and..."

My eyes welled up with tears, and I scolded myself internally. Dear God, Gwen, stop with the tears! I just wanted to punch something at that moment.

"...and it hurts me that this happened to you, and I wasn't there. So, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you faced that alone."

Ian looked up at me, his expression a mix of embarrassment and shame.

"Gwen, I'm so sorry. You don't have to hear this. I can stop. You know I can just pay the bill, and we can go our separate ways. I'm awful for hiding this from you, and you have every right to be angry wi..."

"Ian," I interrupted, my voice firm, "I don't want to go anywhere. Please just continue."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, if I cry, I cry. I'm a big girl, literally," I replied, wiping away a tear. We both smiled at my attempt at humor. "I can handle it. I'm only crying because I really care about you. So, what happened next?"