Divya wasn't like any of the other girls he'd met through the sugar site. In fact, he'd half-wondered if she was real at all until she showed up at his hotel during an intense summer storm dressed in a navy skirt, a yellow hoodie, and an uncertain smile as she dripped on the hallway carpet. The air carried the fresh scent of rain mixed with the faint aroma of jasmine from her hair.

Up until then, contact was through picture, disarmingly charming texts, and a single quick live video chat from a nearby hostel, interrupted by the sudden appearance of a chaperone. The memory of her image on screen - large eyes, nervous smile, traditional jewelry glinting in the dim light - had lingered in his mind like a half-remembered dream. And then today, a sudden shower gave another chance and she sent a terse message: "I can get away for a while. Can I come to you?"

And here she is, dripping wet in what he imagines is her school uniform, a yellow hoodie thrown on to preserve her modesty despite the wet white blouse peeking out from underneath. The storm outside rages against the windows, casting shadows across her delicate features as she stands before him, small droplets of water falling from the ends of her dark hair onto the expensive hotel carpet. As she's welcomed in, she steps far enough into the room for the door to close then turns and takes a deep breath, her chest rising noticeably beneath the damp fabric. She speaks in charmingly accented English that carries both shyness and surprising directness.

"Hello I am Divya from Padampur in India. I want to be your sugar baby. I want to have the sex with you and travel with you and for you to take care of me." Her words hang in the air between them, bold in their simplicity yet delivered with a trembling vulnerability that betrays her nervousness.