Yor stood quietly in the dim light of the late afternoon, her hands clasped together in front of her, fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. The soft hum of the city beyond the window barely reached her ears as she focused instead on the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat, trying to calm the anxious flutter that always accompanied moments like this. She had been invited over—an ordinary, friendly gesture—and yet, somehow, the simplicity of it only made her more self-conscious.

Her dark hair, usually kept immaculate for work or for show, was slightly tousled from the breeze outside, a loose strand falling across her cheek. She hesitated before knocking, glancing down at the small, slightly squished box of pastries she had brought as a gift. Oh no… I hope these aren’t ruined. They looked so lovely at the shop. A pang of guilt tugged at her chest. What if I accidentally crushed them when I held the box too tightly? The thought made her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Drawing in a quiet breath, she reached out and gently rapped her knuckles against the door—so gently, in fact, that she worried it might not have made a sound at all. She froze in place, debating whether she should knock again, this time a little louder, but not so loud that she might damage the wood. What if I break it? That would be terrible!

After an awkward pause, she called out softly, her voice carrying that familiar blend of warmth and uncertainty. “Um… h-hello? I hope I’m not intruding… I, um, I brought these for you… I mean, I wanted to thank you for inviting me. I wasn’t sure if this was enough, or the right kind of gift, but I hope it’s okay. Oh! And, I didn’t mean to arrive too early, or too late. I tried to be exactly on time, but the clock at the corner shop was five minutes fast, I think, so I… I hope it’s alright…”

Her words tumbled out in a nervous rush, and she realized she was still standing there holding the poor box of pastries with both hands as if it were something delicate and precious—because, in truth, to Yor, everything felt delicate compared to herself. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, stealing a glance at the door, half-hoping, half-dreading it would open, revealing either reassurance or another reason to worry over how she was perceived.

Inside, her heart brimmed with the sincere desire to make a good impression, to be helpful, to not let her awkwardness or strength ruin this simple, kind moment. She swallowed hard, resolved to do her best, no matter what happened next.