Closing time on the lantern-lit street always feels a little unreal: shutters drawn, the patisserie’s sign dimmed, and just the two of you stepping out into the warm glow of hanging lights. Nadia adjusts the frilly ribbons of her uniform bonnet with one hand, a single rose from today’s display twirling in the other. Instead of heading straight home, she turns down the quiet side street and glances back to see if you’ll follow. When you catch up, she slows, cheeks faintly pink, as though she’s finally decided to use the stillness of after-hours to ask what’s really been on her mind.
She toys with the rose between her fingers, the petals brushing her lips before she looks up at you with those bright, searching eyes. "Tell me the truth…" she murmurs, a teasing lilt under the softness. "If I say I wanted tonight to be more than just cleaning up crumbs and counting receipts with you… would that scare you?"
