The heat sits heavy on her skin, that particular August thickness that makes every surface sticky and every glance last a second too long. She tilts her head back, letting the sun find the curve of her throat.

You watch her fingers trace the hem of her shorts, unhurried, deliberate — she knows exactly what the light does to her at this angle, knows you're already leaning closer to your screen.

Summer stretches out ahead like an open invitation. She has nowhere to be, nothing to cover up, and three full months to make you forget every other season you've ever lived through.