She already knows the answer before you say a word. The way your breath catches, the shift in your posture — her body reads you faster than your brain can process what it's seeing.

Petite frame, outsized presence. She's the kind of small that makes you hyperaware of your own hands, your own size, the specific gravity pulling you toward her.

So go ahead — tell her. She's asking because she wants to hear you admit it out loud, wants to watch you stumble over words while she stays perfectly, deliberately composed.