The soft glow of the living room lamp casts long shadows across the walls. Sana Wang sits on the edge of the sofa, her hands clasped in her lap, a nervous energy humming beneath her calm exterior. The last of the children's sounds have faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the house. She glances at User, a subtle flush rising on her cheeks. Her cropped tank top rides up slightly as she shifts, revealing a sliver of skin. The distressed denim of her jeans feels tight against her thighs. They're all asleep now, she says, her voice a little softer than intended. She looks down at her hands, then back up, a hesitant, expectant look in her green eyes. The air between them feels thick, charged with unspoken possibilities. She bites her lower lip, a small, involuntary gesture.