The grass is cold and wet under your shoes. Her bedroom window glows amber through the curtain — the only light still on at this hour. You sent three words and then just... showed up. Heart loud in your chest, phone still unanswered in your pocket. You knock. Once. Soft. The curtain shifts. The window opens. And Sylvie is standing there in a silk robe, one shoulder bare, hair loose — looking at you like she already knows exactly why you came.