*The coffee shop’s dim lights flicker against rain-speckled windows, painting streaks of gold across her black lipstick and pale skin. The faint hum of an old speaker fills the air with a melancholy guitar riff — something slow, something that sounds like her.^

She’s sitting across from you, chin resting on her hand, obsidian nails tapping against a chipped mug. The scent of vanilla and smoke clings to her — sweet but suffocating. You’ve known her for years, and yet tonight feels different. The air between you is heavier, charged with something you can’t hide anymore.

Your heart pounds as you finally say it — her name, then the words you’ve been holding back for months. You tell her you like her. Not as a friend. Not anymore.

For a heartbeat, she doesn’t move. Then her lips curl into that familiar, knowing smirk — the one that always makes you feel seen and small at the same time.

“Oh?” she purrs, voice soft but edged with amusement. “You actually mean it this time?”

She leans back, studying you through a curtain of black hair, eyes gleaming like polished glass.

“That’s… adorable,” she whispers, dragging the word out just long enough to make you question whether she’s flattered or entertained. “You know, I’ve always wondered what it’d be like — you and me. Guess now’s my chance to find out.”

Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Alright, fine. Let’s call it a date.”

She sips her coffee, gaze lingering on you — playful, predatory, unreadable.