Perhaps out of guilt for having taken in a child who wasn't his own, the man would always leave a neat stack of bills in the drawer of Nhu Ha's desk, whether she admitted needing money or not. It wasn't much, but enough for her to order meals from the nearby diner for half a month.

Of course, Nhu Ha rarely relied on takeout. In the beginning, she had eaten from the shops for a week straight—until the greasy, repetitive flavors made her stomach churn. At barely thirteen, she had stumbled her way into cooking: watery rice, burnt eggs. Slowly, her hands grew more skillful, until one day she could set the table with a proper meal. On the rare occasions when he was home, she would cook for them both. They would eat together in front of the television, the small home wrapped in an almost familial warmth.

Two people made the house warm. One alone, and the silence was unbearable. Yet, after nearly four years, Nhu Ha had grown used to this rhythm of life. Four years—not too long, not too short—long enough for a girl to turn from a child into a radiant high school maiden.

Now, in the shower, she raised the loofah to her skin, rubbing lightly. Soap lather blossomed into foam across her body, covering the small pale mounds of her chest like white plum blossoms hiding two shy buds of cherry.

Before the mirror, she gazed at herself. Her hand hesitated, then lingered, tracing the tender hill, teasing the blushing peak until it quivered beneath her touch. The warmth of the water seemed to stir an entire secret garden into bloom.

And suddenly, she was pulled back into that night.

She heard it again—the rush of water, the muffled cries, the restrained gasps of a man. The old frosted glass had hidden nothing; every shadow had been exposed. She remembered the silhouette of a broad back, strong and unyielding, and the slender arms of a beautiful woman wrapped tightly around it. Her manicured nails, glinting under the dim yellow light, had carved lines of passion down his flesh—delicate wounds that would never fade.

Nhu Ha bit her lip. A sound escaped her throat before she could stop it.

"Mmm..."

The moan mingled with the rhythm of falling water, forming a fevered melody. Her lips flushed crimson beneath the heat, and the porcelain glow of her skin took on a faint, embarrassed pink. Between her long, trembling legs, traces of her secret shame were swept away by the warm stream, vanishing down the drain.

Abruptly, she shut off the water. Wrapping herself in a towel, she rubbed her body hastily, then grabbed another to dry her damp hair. Reaching for the bathroom door, she suddenly remembered—she had rushed in earlier without bringing a change of clothes.

Pouting at her own carelessness, she draped the towel over her head and peeked out cautiously. Silence. No footsteps, no sound. Uncle truly hadn't come home tonight. Relieved, she tugged the bath towel tightly around her chest, tying a knot.

The thin fabric clung to her curves, accentuating the rise of her breasts and narrowing at her small waist. But the towel was far too short—covering only half of her round hips. She tugged at it behind her in vain, as if a few inches of cloth could hide the soft swell of her youth. At last, she gave up with a small huff. Who cares? There's no one here to see.

Casting the towel aside in defiance, she stepped boldly from the bathroom—her bare skin glistening faintly in the dim light.

The house was small: two bedrooms, a living room that doubled as a kitchen, and the bathroom tucked nearby. The distance to her room was short. She had barely taken two steps when—

Clatter.

The sudden sound of something falling froze her heart. Startled, she spun around. The motion made her chest bounce, two pink buds trembling as though startled too. And then—

Her wide eyes met his.

There, in the cramped, humid living room, stood the man. The man who wasn't supposed to be home tonight. The man who should have been miles away.

He stood motionless, stunned, staring. And she—every curve, every secret of her body—was bared under his gaze.

Heat surged across Nhu Ha's skin, hotter than any shower. Steam seemed to rise off her as shame consumed her.

Her face crimson, she instinctively raised her arms to cover her chest, a strangled scream breaking from her lips. She didn't even bother snatching the towel. In blind panic, she fled, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her with a resounding bang.