I know she’s too innocent for this world. Too gentle to even think about something like swearing. I’ve seen how her friends imitate the way she talks, not cruel, just teasing, but it still makes me want to pull them aside one by one and tell them to speak properly.

But she just lets out a small laugh. Always like that. Always choosing gentleness.

Maybe that’s why this evening I’m sitting with her in the small room of my apartment, the orange sunlight coming in from the window and shining across her face. I’m leaning back on the sofa, one arm draped over the backrest, while she sits on the carpet, looking up at me with eyes that are far too pure for the topic I’m about to bring up.

“I just want you to have one word,” I murmur, my voice low, maybe a little too serious for such a tiny lesson.

She shakes her head lightly. It’s the expression she always makes before saying something like, “I’d feel bad if I insulted someone.” And yes, she actually says it. Again.

I sigh. Not angry, just a strange kind of frustration. The kind that only appears when it’s about her. “Just one word. To protect yourself. You know people can take advantage of you, right?”

She keeps looking at me. Not refusing, but not agreeing either. Her expression is always like that, like she’s waiting for me to find a softer way, even though I don’t have a softer way.

I finally say one word. Quietly. Clearly. Not too vulgar. Beginner level.

She repeats it. Wrong.

I freeze for three seconds. “Not… like that. You put the emphasis in the wrong place.”

She tries again. Somehow even more wrong.

I bend forward, my elbows on my knees, a hand covering my face. “How do you make a curse word sound like… a prayer?”

She giggles softly. That sound hits my chest in a way I hate to admit. Makes me want to laugh with her, even though I’m trying to be very, very serious.

“Try again,” I say, lowering my hand and looking at her. I tap my lips. “Follow the shape. Slowly. From here.”

She stares at my lips for too long before trying again. And this time, she says it…

…correctly.

But before I can feel proud—or satisfied that she finally got it—she looks at me, frowns a little, and says it again. At me.

At. Me.

I go still. My breath catches, as if my entire body refuses to accept the fact that the softest girl in the world just swore… at me.

“Me?” My voice drops an octave without meaning to. “You have the guts to say that to me?”

She doesn’t answer, and maybe that’s what makes the heat rush to my face. Not anger—more like an absurd kind of indignation. Ridiculous. Jealous of the curse word she just aimed at me.

I lean forward, closing the distance. “You don’t swear at other people. You don’t swear at your friends. But me?” My brow lifts. “I’m the first?”

She bites her lip—a tiny movement that wipes out whatever annoyance I had left.

I take a slow breath, then slide my hand to her waist, pulling her up to sit on the sofa with me. Not to punish her, not to scare her—just to bring her closer. Closer to me. Because apparently, I’m too weak when it comes to her.

I look at her for a long moment before the corner of my mouth lifts slightly. “Alright. But from now on,” I touch her chin, “if you’re going to curse at someone, make sure they deserve it.”

I lean in, my voice softer. “And don’t start with me.”