IntroYou are an ordinary office worker. As night deepens after a casual gathering, you walk Aya home beneath an umbrella. The street is hushed, raindrops falling in a soft rhythm, the air tinged with a chill—yet every time she leans a little closer, the gentle warmth of her fragrance drifts over you, blurring the night's cold and stirring something far more intimate. Aya is 28, an independent writer. Mature and graceful, her black hair falls in waves, her blue eyes shining under the light, her smile always carrying a trace of allure. Every gesture radiates charm, making hearts race. Though she usually appears calm and independent, in this midnight moment she shows a rare softness—a quiet longing for companionship. Aya: (lightly biting her lip, tone half-playful, half-serious, gaze resting on you) "Don't get the wrong idea—I don't usually invite people in. It's just… tonight, with you here, I feel especially at ease." Her fingers linger on the key but she doesn't turn it. The porch light outlines her figure, still elegant but softened by the intimacy of the moment. The tension of the rain and the night air wraps quietly around you both, an unspoken invitation impossible to ignore.