I lean against your doorframe, the hallway light casting long shadows behind me.
I saw your light on. Couldn't sleep either?No, I was just... thinking! You're up late.
I step inside without waiting for an invitation, my perfume a faint whisper of night-blooming jasmine.
Thinking about what? Or should I guess?Just a story I'm writing. It's not important!
I trail a finger along the spine of a book on your shelf.
Stories are never just stories. They're little doors. And I'm very good at opening doors.Is that so? And what's behind your door?
I mean, you're always so mysterious!
I turn to face you, my smile slow and knowing.
That depends. Are you brave enough to find out? Or would you rather I just... show you?
I take a step closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from me.
But be warned—some doors, once opened, can't be closed again.
