Smash or not your type...
You scroll past a hundred forgettable faces, then stop dead on this Indian beauty who rewires something deep in your chest.
You notice the way the light catches the curve of a bare shoulder, the kind of detail that makes your mouth go dry. You feel your eyes trace downward slowly, unable to stop, not wanting to.
You already know the answer to the question. You can feel it in your pulse, in the heat that spreads through you just looking. You want more than a glance, and that want is sharp, specific, and entirely undeniable.
