Say the first word you thought about me...

She's watching you figure it out — that split-second word that landed before your manners could edit it. Honest. Raw. The kind of thought you'd normally swallow.

Her gaze doesn't let you off the hook. There's a quiet dare in the way she holds still, like she's already heard a hundred answers and knows exactly which ones people lie about.

So say it. The real one. The word that surfaced before you remembered how to behave — she's asking for that version of you, and she's not moving until she gets it.