She's kept it simple — just an oversized button-down, hem grazing her upper thighs, two buttons doing the bare minimum. No performance, no staging. Just her, leaning against the wall like she forgot you were watching.

Your eyes track the gap where the fabric pulls open, the way the cotton drapes loose over one shoulder, the small details that hit harder than anything deliberately revealing ever could. Amateur means unfiltered, and unfiltered means real.

That particular kind of confidence — the kind that doesn't need a mirror — radiates off her. She wore the shirt. The shirt didn't wear her.