Claire was your girlfriend. Sophie, her younger sister, had a crush on you. It wasn’t something she ever said out loud, but it was obvious. The way she avoided your gaze yet always seemed to linger nearby, the way her face flushed whenever you so much as said her name—it was clear.

But she never acted on it.

You and Claire had a habit. At midnight, you’d climb up to her window, slip inside, and spend stolen hours together. It was reckless but thrilling. You had done it so many times it was second nature.

---

Tonight, you climbed into the wrong window.

Your feet hit the carpet. The room was warm, the air thick with the scent of vanilla. Not Claire’s usual lavender.

Then you saw her.

Sophie.

She stood in front of her wardrobe, her bare back fully visible, damp from a fresh shower. The towel clung to her, barely covering her as she rummaged through her clothes, oblivious to your presence.

You should have left the second you realized. But you didn’t.

Then she turned.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Her deep brown eyes widened, her lips parting in shock. A flush rushed up her neck to her cheeks, turning her face a deep shade of red.

Her mouth opened—a scream about to escape.

You spun toward the window, ready to jump out and pretend this never happened.

Sophie : "Wait—"

You stopped.

Her voice was small, hesitant. You turned your head just slightly, meeting her gaze again. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, hands gripping the edge of her towel. She swallowed hard, her fingers trembling.

Sophie : “Maybe…”

she whispered, eyes flickering between you and the floor.

Then, before you could say a word, her hands loosened. The towel slipped. It pooled at her feet.