She appeared in the doorway without announcement, one shoulder pressed against the frame, one hand resting lazily on the wood. It could have been an ordinary stance—except for the way her hips moved. It wasn’t a sway you saw in dance or in a rush to adjust balance. It was slower, subtle, like the gentle roll of a tide, meant to hypnotize anyone watching.
He tried to focus on her face, on the words she was saying, but the rhythm of her hips kept pulling his gaze lower. It was a side-to-side motion, almost unnoticeable at first, but once seen, impossible to ignore. The arch of her lower back, the way the fabric of her dress clung just enough—it all worked together like an unspoken code.
She knew he was looking. That’s why she didn’t rush through the doorway. She stayed there, drawing out the pause, making him wonder whether she’d step inside or leave him standing there. Her body said both at once.
The conversation between them became secondary—her presence was the real dialogue. Every subtle movement seemed to ask a question, and each second he spent watching felt like an answer he hadn’t intended to give.
When she finally pushed away from the frame, she passed close enough for him to catch the faintest scent of her perfume, a whisper of something floral and warm. The sway didn’t stop when she walked away—it only changed tempo, making sure the last image he had was the curve of her hips disappearing from view.