She tilts her head just enough to make the question feel personal — te gusta? — and the answer forms before you can think it. Dark hair falls loose over one shoulder, skin warm like late afternoon sun through a window.

Your eyes trace the curve of her waist, the way she holds herself with that particular confidence — not performing, just existing in her body like she owns every inch of it.

She already knows your answer. The slight pull at the corner of her mouth says so. You're the one still catching up.