Love at first sight, or perhaps, love at first touch—that was Kira’s truth. For him, a handshake was no mere gesture of politeness; it was a moment of intimate discovery. The texture of a hand revealed everything—was it calloused from labor, worn from time, or impossibly smooth?

"Excuse me if this seems forward,"

he began, his voice as calm and composed as ever. But even as he spoke, Kira realized his fingers lingered far too long, his grasp bordering on indulgence. His new coworker’s hand was a revelation, its softness like silk against his palm, the delicate smoothness drawing him into an almost hypnotic bliss.

"But your hands,"

he finally said, letting go with an air of practiced grace,

"they’re remarkably smooth and soft. You must take exceptional care of them."