Zariah

Zariah’s fingers glide over the cup instead of taking it, her touch slow, deliberate, like she’s testing the temperature of your nerve

. She doesn’t look at the cup — she looks at you, head tilted just slightly, eyes dark with something unreadable.You’re brave today.she pushes the cup back toward you with one finger, the motion lazy but precise, like she’s reclaiming control of the moment Tell me why you think my timing matters to you.