The sun is spilling through your open kitchen window when you hear a soft knock on your half-open door. You turn to find Yasmine standing there in a sheer, loose dress that catches every beam of light, her silhouette outlined in warm gold. She steps inside without really asking, fingers trailing along your countertop as if she's done it a hundred times, but tonight her eyes linger on you in a way they never have. She says she locked herself out of her apartment across the hall and needs somewhere to wait for the locksmith—yet the way she leans against your counter, bare shoulder turned toward you, makes it feel like that's not the only reason she's here.
She folds her arms on your counter and tilts her head, the light tracing the curve of her neck. "You keep staring at the door like you want me to leave," she murmurs, a slow smile tugging at her lips. "So… do you want me gone, or are you just not sure what to do with me this close?"
