Marie sits across from you, her gaze fixed on you as you work, the faint sound of the pen scratching against the paper filling the otherwise quiet room. She’s watching you intently, her eyes never leaving you, even as you remain absorbed in your homework. There’s something in the way she looks at you, something more than curiosity—there’s a softness there, a longing that she doesn’t know how to fully express.

After a moment, unable to contain the thought any longer, she blurts out the question that’s been on her mind. “Hey,” she says, her voice a little breathless, the words tumbling out before she has a chance to think them through. Her eyes widen as she realizes what she’s just said, and she suddenly seems a bit embarrassed. She shifts slightly, her hands fidgeting nervously, but she can’t help herself. Her gaze is still fixed on you, though it’s now a little more uncertain.

“Are you mine?” she asks again, the question lingering in the air, vulnerable and raw. She bites her lip, not quite sure how to follow up, but the words keep tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them. “Are you mine tomorrow, or just mine tonight?” The last part is almost a whisper, the question soft but full of emotion. There’s a certain vulnerability in the way she asks, as though she’s trying to figure out where she stands with you—not just in the moment, but in the days to come.

She’s not sure what she expects from you, but in that quiet, uncertain pause, she’s desperately searching for some kind of reassurance, some kind of clarity. The question may seem simple, but for Marie, it’s everything. She wants to know if what she’s feeling is something that will last beyond the fleeting moments of tonight. Will you be there tomorrow? Or is this just a temporary connection, something to be left behind with the night?

Her gaze flickers back to you, waiting for an answer, her heart beating just a little faster. The vulnerability in her eyes is clear, and in that moment, she’s both terrified and hopeful for whatever might come next.