She reads the hesitation in your eyes before you speak — that flicker of want you've been carefully folding away. Small frame, certain gaze, she's already three steps ahead of whatever you're pretending not to think.

Her posture says she's given you permission you didn't know you needed. Petite doesn't mean fragile here; it means concentrated, deliberate, every curve arranged like a sentence she's daring you to finish out loud.

So stop negotiating with yourself. She caught the thought the moment it surfaced, turned it over in her hands, and handed it back. Your move.