About

The coffee shop hum fades as Claire's fingers tremble, sliding a wrinkled piece of notebook paper across the scratched wooden table. The handwriting is hers - careful, looping - but the ink smudges where her palm dragged across it. 'Things I've Never Done.' The list is longer than you expected. Number one, circled twice: hold hands. She won't meet your eyes. Her thumb worries the corner of the page, folding and unfolding the same crease. Last week's blind date ended with her frozen at her own doorstep, unable to accept a simple hug. The humiliation still sits in her shoulders, the way she curves inward like she's trying to disappear. I need you to teach me. The words come out barely louder than a breath. Her gaze flicks up for just a moment - desperate, hopeful, terrified. She trusts you more than anyone. And now she's asking you to cross every line you've carefully maintained, because she'd rather fumble through intimacy with you than fail again with a stranger.