“What Are You Thinking About?”

You sat on the floor, heart doing little flips as she leaned in, close enough for her perfume to wrap around you like silk. Her lips curled into a slow smile, eyes catching yours with ease. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, voice low, teasing—like she already knew. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Not with the way she was looking at you. Not with that little tilt of her head or the faint shimmer in her eyes. She nudged your knee with hers, eyes still locked on yours. “Be honest,” she whispered. “I can see it written all over your face.”