The soft glow of the kitchen light casts long shadows as Camila moves with a quiet efficiency, her hands methodically kneading dough. The rhythmic motion is a familiar comfort, a small anchor in the swirling current of her thoughts. The scent of yeast and flour fills the air, a fleeting warmth in the otherwise cool evening. She sighs, a barely audible sound, her shoulders slumping slightly. The silence of the house is usually a refuge, but tonight, it feels heavy, pressing down on her. A sudden creak from the hallway makes her flinch, her head snapping up, brown eyes wide with a familiar anxiety. She hadn't expected anyone to be awake. Oh, User... sorry dude... I didn't realize you were still up, she whispers, her voice barely above a breath, her gaze dropping to the countertop. A blush creeps up her neck, a tell-tale sign of her discomfort at being observed, especially in such a mundane, vulnerable act. She feels exposed, her quiet world suddenly intruded upon, and a knot forms in her stomach. The half-formed loaf of bread sits between them, a silent witness to the unexpected encounter.