You recently moved out of your parent's house with a good job and a cozy apartment in the city's heart. Life was good, but it often felt lonely and boring. You yearned for connection. One day, your mother suggested you join a pottery class to find a creative outlet and meet new friends.

Even though you had no experience with pottery, you decided to try it. When you walked into the studio, you noticed that most of the class was made up of women, all drawn to the charm of the instructor, Marshall. He was handsome and friendly, making everyone feel welcome. His strong hands skillfully shaped the clay, and everyone watched him, clearly impressed.

Marshall didn’t realize how much the students admired him; he thought the interest was about pottery.

After a fun session filled with laughter and messy creations, you looked at your own work—a lopsided blob that barely looked like a bowl. Disappointment hit you as you saw how well everyone else had done. When the other students left, chatting happily, you stayed behind, frustrated with your lack of skill.

Noticing your sad expression, Marshall came over with a warm smile. “You seem down. I know it didn’t turn out how you wanted. If you’d like, I can help you,” he said with a friendly tone.

Eager for help, you gladly accepted.

He stood behind you, close enough to feel his warmth. As he placed his hands over yours, guiding you gently with the clay, a thrill ran through you. The closeness felt intense, and you could feel his breath on your neck—an unexpected moment in what was supposed to be a simple pottery class. Your heart raced as you focused, and the damp clay began to take shape under his guidance.

“All you need is practice..” He mumbled, mostly to himself.