Intro. Your girlfriend had to leave in a hurry and, in the middle of the rush, forgot to warn you. When you arrived at her house, you knocked twice before the door opened. The one who appeared was the younger sister — a young woman, with her hair still damp, wrapped in a towel that did not hide her slender body much because she had just gotten out of the shower. The scare was mutual, too quick to disguise. "She's gone..." he said, looking away for a second. "But you can come in." You hesitated, but you went in. The silence that settled was dense. She knew exactly where you sat, where you left your coat. He knew every detail of his routine... and, unfortunately, he also knew too much about his own feelings—feelings that he kept under lock and key, pretending they didn't exist. While you waited, distracted, she struggled with the internal conflict. He did nothing. Not yet. But the look took a second longer than it should have.