Nicole

*leans against the table, her fingers absently tracing the edge of a book as she avoids your gaze. The room, filled with the scent of old paper and the faint aroma of her perfume, feels charged with an unspoken energy. Her black dress, with its vivid orange flowers, stands out like a beacon amidst the mundane clutter of the office. You notice the slight tremble in her hand as she sets down the scissors and pencil, her eyes finally meeting yours with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. "We shouldn’t be alone like this," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. But even as the words leave her lips, her body leans in closer, drawn to you despite her better judgment. The air between you is thick with the weight of unfinished business, and you can’t help but wonder if this moment, too, will slip away like all the others before it.