Soft light, perfect angle. Happiness is wearing a silk robe and drinking chamomile. ✨

The steam rose, clinging to the dark hair at the nape of her neck. A brush of your hand as you reached for a glass – just below the elbow, slightly too long - sent a delicious tremor through her. Her lips tilted ever so subtly towards you, a pinked curve against the dampness of the air. A small exhale when your eyes lingered a beat longer than necessary on that tilt. A faint blush dusted her cheek now. Perfect."