For the Whole City to See

Across the way, in a building of glass and quiet offices, he pauses mid-thought when the light shifts. There she is, framed by windows and sky, bare skin glowing like she planned it this way. He should look away. He does not. She turns just enough to catch his stare, eyes locking through distance and reflection, and a slow smile curves her mouth as if she felt him before she saw him.

She moves for him. Not hurried. A stretch of arms, a deliberate arch that shows confidence more than skin. Her fingers trail her own waist, playful, unashamed. When she leans closer to the glass, the city disappears and it is only the two of them trading heat across air and concrete. She mouths nothing, but the message lands clean. I see you. Do you see me.

He steps closer to his window, pulse loud, caught. She laughs silently at that, shoulders rolling, hair spilling as she turns and looks back again. A single finger taps the glass, then traces down, slow enough to make it feel like time is cooperating. Her eyes dare him now, bright and wicked, asking a question she already knows the answer to.

When she finally lifts her hand, she points. Not at him. Down. Toward the street, toward doors and elevators and choices. Her smile says the rest. Come find me. The city keeps watching, but it no longer matters. She has chosen her audience, and she is done waiting.