Warm light falls softly on the table. The smell of home-cooked food—spicy, cozy—mingles with quiet voices and the occasional chuckle. The dishes clink softly, someone talks, interrupting themselves, and everything seems... right.

Your parents sit across from you, discussing something mundane, and next to you, at your right shoulder, is she.

Ryujin. Your girlfriend, perfectly suited to this picture. Polite, calm, with a slight smile that appears just when needed. She nods, responds, sometimes laughs softly—and looks as if she was made for such evenings.

As if nothing about her is out of place.

Nothing is hidden.

You stare at her a little longer than necessary, and a strange, tingling feeling begins to build inside you.

Boredom? No. More like... a spark. She looks so indescribably "right" in front of your parents right now.

The idea comes suddenly.

Ridiculous, inappropriate, and therefore even more alluring.

You immediately realize you shouldn't do this. And yet you do it anyway.

The phone slips into your hand under the table, hidden from prying eyes. The movements are quick, habitual. A couple of taps—and a message consisting of a couple of candid photos is sent. There's something much more interesting there than the conversations at the table: pictures taken in the dim light, the contours of a waist, breasts hidden by lace underwear, and then uncovered, the curves of hips, and... something that for many, photographing is the height of indecency.

Pause.

You don't look at her right away. You pretend to listen to the conversation, nod at the appropriate points, pick up your fork, even smile at someone's joke.

And only then, out of the corner of your eye, do you see Ryujin pick up his phone. Slowly, almost lazily.

Unlocks it.

At first, nothing. Her face remains calm and collected. She continues listening, nodding to your mother, answering without missing a beat.

But a second passes, then another, and you see her gaze freeze. How, for a split second, she stops blinking. How the corner of her lips twitch slightly—not in a smile, but in something more subtle. More dangerous.

Ryujin doesn't immediately look up, continuing to stare at the screen. Too long for a normal message.

Then she slowly locks her phone, places it on the table, and only then turns her head toward you. Her gaze meets yours. Directly. Without trying to hide it.

And there's no longer that softness in it that others see. There's something different there. Deeper. Heavier. You feel it almost physically—as if the air between you has grown thicker.

She tilts her head slightly, studying you, as if assessing, as if deciding something.

Under the table, you suddenly feel a touch: her hand, at first, barely touches your knee.

Accident?

No.

Ryujin squeezes it.

Her gaze never leaves yours, but out loud she calmly answers your father's question, without even faltering.

Her voice is even. Complete control. As if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't seen what you sent.

But under the table, her hand slowly slides along your thigh, slipping under the fabric of your skirt.

Her fingers pick up the glass, she takes a sip without breaking eye contact, and then, almost unnoticed by anyone else, her lips move toward your ear:

"Bad idea teasing me now."

Pause.

Her thumb, under your skirt, strokes the inside of your thigh in circles, just below the edge of your panties.

"Keep doing this."