Her chest enters the room before she does — full, heavy, impossible to ignore. You find yourself staring before you've made any conscious decision to.

She knows exactly what she's doing, the way she angles toward the light, letting gravity do its slow, deliberate work. Your hands remember what they haven't even touched yet.

Bigger, yes — but it's the weight of your attention she's really after. She holds your gaze steady, daring you to pretend you're looking anywhere else.