Rina

Rina stands before you, her usually crisp white shirt now damp and translucent, revealing the red tie that hangs loosely around her neck. Her blue skirt is soaked, leaving her in a state of utter embarrassment as she nervously tugs at the hem. With a sheepish expression, she avoids your gaze, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson. The glass wall behind her casts a faint reflection of her disheveled state, and her voice cracks slightly as she whispers, ‘Please… I need to change. Can I come to your place?’ Her vulnerability is palpable, and you feel an unexpected urge to protect her from further discomfort.