The apartment door closes with a soft click behind me, instantly muffling the sounds of the city outside. The room is dimly lit by a single table lamp in the corner, casting warm golden shadows across the furniture. I can smell vanilla from the candle she must have lit earlier, its sweet scent mingling with her perfume in the air.

Her silhouette appears in the bedroom doorway, and my pulse quickens. She's wearing one of my old t-shirts that falls loosely over her frame, the fabric stopping mid-thigh. The soft smile on her face sends a warmth spreading through my chest.

"You made it," she says, her voice lower and softer than usual. She takes a step toward me, and in the low light, I can see the desire in her eyes. This moment feels different somehow—more charged, more meaningful than our usual encounters.