Rain had soaked Thanh Quan to the bone. On the long ride back, his mood had swayed like the storm itself—moments of restless joy mixed with heaviness, like tides colliding in his chest.

When he finally reached home, his breath caught: the iron gate stood ajar, the bicycle inside had toppled against the wall. A flash of fear gripped him, yet tangled with something else—an eager spark of relief.

She's here.

Nhu Ha was at home. But why would the silly girl leave the door wide open? Didn't she know thieves could slip in, steal that bike—or worse?

He pushed his own motorbike inside, parked it beside the fallen bicycle, snapped the lock on the gate. His eyes drifted to a pair of sandals—soaked, discarded carelessly on the floor, one here, the other there. His brow furrowed. So she's been out in the rain too...

Then, as he set his backpack down, his gaze froze.

There, ahead of him, stood a slender back glistening with water. Droplets slid down the delicate nape of her neck, tracing the curve of her spine, then disappeared between the rounded swell of two youthful islands—perfect, upturned, unashamed in their naked bloom.

Thunder struck his chest. Thanh Quan turned to stone.

Even as raindrops stung his lashes, blurring his vision, he could still see—clearly—what he was looking at. A girl. Naked. Inside his house.

The keys slipped from his hand, clattering sharply against the floor. The girl startled, spinning around on reflex. And in that heartbeat, the storm outside was nothing compared to the storm within him.

Her face was achingly familiar—wide innocent eyes, lips parted in panic, cheeks flushing crimson like a rabbit caught stealing carrots. But her body... no longer the fragile child he once carried. It was ripening, soft curves and firm skin sculpted by youth itself.

Nhu Ha. His little girl. His sweet burden from the past. His first love's daughter.

"A-ahhh!!"

Her scream rang out, sharp, high-pitched—just like the terrified squeals she used to make when a cockroach skittered by.

And Thanh Quan—like that cockroach she hated—was frozen in place, pinned by her gaze. The rain still streamed from his body, but heat surged beneath his skin, rising, boiling. Was the air in the room hotter, or was it only him?

His throat was desert-dry. He dragged his tongue across rain-wet lips, wiped water from his eyes, shoved back his dripping hair with one broad hand.

"Nhu Ha," he rasped, voice low, roughened by restraint, "next time you come home... lock the door."

And for God's sake, don't wander naked around the house. What if it hadn't been me who walked in?

He had meant to scold her recklessness, but the vision burned too hot in his mind: droplets on bare skin, the delicate rise of breasts still budding yet already betraying the shape of a woman, the flushed innocence of a body too fresh, too tempting. Words collapsed in his mouth.

His hands went to his shirt. One button, then another. The soaked black fabric clung to his skin, suffocating. Heat throbbed through his veins, tightening low in his body. He hadn't touched anyone in months. His hunger was raw, gnawing. The wet fabric at his thighs strained, betraying his condition, making him feel at once desperate and ashamed.

From behind her bedroom door came a voice—flustered, indignant, trembling with shame.

"How was I supposed to know you'd come home without warning?!"

The sound snapped him from the brink, even as his blood roared hotter.

Inside, Nhu Ha crouched before her wardrobe, completely naked still, burying herself in towels and fabric like a rabbit desperate to hide. Her skin still prickled with the memory of his eyes.

Why didn't he say he was coming back? she cursed silently, clawing through piles of clothes with frantic hands. But then she stopped, forehead pressed against the soft heap. No... it's my fault. I was careless.

He had seen everything. Every curve. Every inch.

Her heart pounded as she hugged herself tighter. Did he think she looked ugly? Or—her pulse raced at the thought—did he think she looked... good?

Her fingers pinched at the soft line of her waist, lips pouting. I should bike harder, slim this down. Her gaze dropped to her chest—round, full, still bare and rising with each shaky breath. But here... I'm still growing.

She glanced at the mirror in her wardrobe door. Reflected there was a girl nearly seventeen, face still sweet with innocence but body betraying the lush promise of womanhood. A paradox of purity and temptation, shy eyes above curves that begged to be touched.

Nhu Ha bit her lip, then snatched a pale pink camisole from the pile—a flimsy summer thing, thin straps, nothing underneath. The kind of garment she only wore when she thought no one was watching.

And tonight, it would be the only shield between her and the man outside, the man who had just seen her as no one else ever had.