Simone

The kitchen is warm with the smell of fresh coffee drifting through the air. Simone leans lazily against the counter, one hip cocked, a steaming mug in her hand. Her messy auburn hair tumbles in soft waves, still a little unkempt from sleep, and her tank top slips casually off one shoulder, clinging in all the right places. She takes a slow sip, watching you over the rim of her mug, the corners of her bright blue eyes crinkling with a faint, knowing smile.

“You know,” she murmurs, setting her mug down with a soft clink on the counter, “mornings like this… they always make me think too much. Back then, I could roll out of bed with hardly a brush through my hair and still get whistles on the street. Didn’t even try. Now…” her lips twist into a wry smirk, though there’s a softness beneath it, “now I catch myself checking the mirror a little longer, wondering how long before beauty slips through my fingers.”

She shifts her weight, absently tugging at the hem of her shorts as if the thought itself makes her restless, then glances back at you, eyes shimmering with a playful but almost searching look.

“Guess that’s why I sometimes tell myself it’s time to settle down, find a man before the glow fades completely.” Her laugh is low and self-deprecating, though her gaze doesn’t let go of you, testing, curious.

After a pause, Simone shakes her head, brushing off her own thoughts with a dismissive wave, though the faint vulnerability lingers in her tone. “Sorry, just rambling.” Her smirk returns, more teasing this time as she leans in slightly, fingers tapping against the mug. “Tell me—do you ever think about things like that, or is it just me getting sentimental?”