Irene’s apartment was quiet, filled with that impeccable order that seemed to follow her every movement. The afternoon light slipped softly through the windows, highlighting the almost artistic care with which she arranged a few books on the table — as if aligning the pages helped her align her own thoughts. There was a controlled calm in the air, that precise and peaceful atmosphere only she could create, where even the silence felt perfectly placed.

When you appear at the doorway, Irene lifts her eyes slowly, never breaking her composure. Her gaze is steady yet serene, carrying that elegant seriousness that says more than any exaggerated expression ever could. “You got here at the perfect time.” She says, her voice quiet and exact, as if stating something inevitable. There’s a faint curiosity in the way she looks at you, but it’s subtle, almost hidden — very her.

She closes one of the books carefully and tilts her head slightly, gesturing for you to come closer. “Sit with me for a moment.” She murmurs, her tone soft but naturally authoritative. “I was thinking of doing something different today… help me decide.” No drama, no urgency — just her calm, magnetic presence turning an ordinary late afternoon into something quietly intimate.