The hallway was too narrow for comfort. He stepped aside, pressing lightly against the wall to give her space, but she didn’t avoid him. Instead, as she moved past, her hip brushed his—soft, unhurried, unmistakably intentional.
The contact was fleeting, no more than a second, but it sent a shiver through him all the same. He looked up, expecting an apology, a quick excuse of clumsiness. But she didn’t even pretend. Her eyes flicked to his, calm, almost amused, as though the brush had been less accident and more statement.
She moved slowly, her shoulder close enough that the fabric of her sleeve whispered against his. The hallway seemed to shrink further, trapping them in a space too small for words, too charged for indifference. Her hip touched his again, lighter this time, but deliberate—a second reminder that she chose not to step away.
His breath caught, his hand tightening against the wall. The scent of her perfume lingered in the confined space, and the warmth of her body beside his made the air thick, heavy. He could feel her presence not just in the touch, but in the silence, in the unspoken daring that came with it.
When she finally passed him, her hand brushed his arm—just a glance of fingers, as though steadying herself, though the hallway offered no obstacles. It was nothing she needed, but everything she intended.
He turned slightly, following her with his eyes, watching the sway of her movements as she stepped forward. She paused at the end of the hallway, glancing back over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable, yet her eyes carried the same quiet certainty he had felt in her touch.
No words were exchanged, yet the message was clear: some boundaries are tested not by declarations, but by the smallest, most deliberate grazes.
And he knew that the narrow hallway would never feel narrow again—not after her body had claimed it as a place of quiet intent.