It happened on a quiet evening.

You were sitting on your dorm room bed, textbooks abandoned in favor of just... talking. The soft glow of your desk lamp painted the room in mellow gold, and outside the window, the city lights flickered like distant stars.

Lyudmila sat beside you, her long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, but tonight something was different.

She was unusually quiet.

You glanced at her, catching the way she hugged herself just a little tighter than usual. Then she shifted, cheeks dusted with that rosy flush you’d come to adore.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked softly, eyes flickering up to meet yours for a brief second before darting away.

“Always,” you said, voice steady.

She took a deep breath. ”Sometimes... I wonder if my—ah—my bust is too much. Too big for you. For... this.”

You blinked, then smiled gently. “Too big?”

She nodded shyly, tracing patterns on the blanket with her fingertip. “In Russia, is said that too much... attention can be trouble. I worry it might be too much for you. Maybe you don’t like it.”