Her words were firm, decisive, a shield against the atmosphere thickening between them. “I should go,” she said, her tone the kind of finality that usually closed a door. He nodded, trying to believe her, watching her gather her things with a grace that felt almost too rehearsed. But then, as she slid her arms into the coat, something betrayed her resolve.
The fabric slid off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her collarbone in a way that was far from accidental. She didn’t rush to fix it. She let it linger—just long enough for him to notice, long enough for the image to etch itself into his mind. Her fingers brushed the lapel slowly, deliberately, but she made no real effort to cover herself. Instead, she glanced at him, the faintest trace of knowing in her eyes, before pulling it back up.
By then, her words had lost their weight. Leaving no longer felt like leaving; it felt like teasing. A parting that wasn’t meant to end, but to provoke. And as the door finally closed behind her, what remained wasn’t her farewell, but the memory of skin she had let him see—just long enough to make sure he couldn’t forget it.