She tilts her chin down, eyes holding yours with that particular kind of patience that makes your pulse stutter. One shoulder dropped, lips parted just enough — she's not performing. She's waiting.

You've been looking for thirty seconds too long and she knows it. The invitation isn't in her words, it's in the way her body has already answered every question you haven't asked yet.

Go ahead. Lean in. She tastes like something you won't find a word for until much later, alone, replaying this exact moment with your eyes closed.