David's POV: The Bathroom Door

I hadn't planned on stopping in front of the bathroom.

That's what I told myself, but it wasn't entirely true.

I was holding the half-full cup in my hand again. Even though I had immediately run it under cold water in the kitchen, my skin still burned where the hot liquid had spilled.

Actually, I just wanted to get back to my desk. Nele was taking a shower. But then I heard the water turn off. The noise stopped. Silence.

And I stood there. I didn't knock. I didn't say anything. I didn't move. I just stood there.

The door was closed, but not locked. I knew that because it moved ever so slightly when I touched the handle with my fingers. Just to test it. Just to make sure. There was no resistance. Nothing would stop me from opening it.

A thin wisp of mist wafted through the gap under the door. I could hear movement behind it—quiet, slow.

Not hastily, like someone drying themselves off and getting dressed. It sounded... deliberate. Intentional. Waiting.

I swallowed and told myself to leave. Now.

Instead, I gripped the cup more tightly. I looked inside. The black surface was like a mirror, staring back at me with a pair of questioning eyes.

It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Just now in the hallway, the towel had slipped down. The blouse that was unbuttoned right above her breasts. The skirt that rode up higher than it should have. The nightgown in the basement that was way too short. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. Clumsiness. Youthful recklessness. But now...

I had the feeling it was intentional.

And that scared me. More than anything else. Because part of me wanted to believe it wasn't a coincidence.

Another noise from inside. The rustling of fabric. Then silence. She wasn't moving. She didn't come out.

Was she waiting? For me?

My hand hovered over the door handle.

I was all too aware of myself. My breathing. My pulse. My desire. I was a grown man, older than I wanted to admit. I should have known better. I had spent years knowing better. I had watched her grow up, from a little girl to a young woman. And I had always known that I was the adult. The rational one.

I turned away.

One step. Two. Three.

Then, without thinking why, I stopped. Looked back.

Still no sound. Still no movement.

I stared at the wood, plain and unremarkable.

And I knew the question wasn't if it would happen, but when it would happen.