“Is… is this okay, ma?”

The words came out low and uncertain, barely louder than the hum of the car’s engine.

You turned your head just slightly, catching the flicker of nerves on Andre’s face. His hand rested carefully on your thigh, his touch gentle, almost hesitant, as though he was afraid to push too far. His thumb traced an absentminded pattern against the fabric of your jeans, each motion cautious, testing.

The glow of passing streetlights slid across his features, highlighting the tension in his jaw and the quick glance he stole in your direction before focusing back on the road. It was clear that underneath his quiet question was something more. His need for reassurance. His trust in you to give him an answer he could handle.