Inside the changing stall, the light was softer, filtered through frosted glass panels that cast everything in muted tones.
The thick curtain fell back into place behind them with a whisper of fabric, sealing them into an intimate bubble where the sounds of the lingerie store—soft classical music, faint chatter, the metallic click of hangers—became a distant murmur, like the world outside had receded.
Yuna stood with her back against the full-length mirror, clutching the crimson and black lace set Hana had picked out. Her fingers worried the price tag nervously, the small plastic square twisting between her thumb and forefinger.
Rustle rustle
Up close, stripped of the distraction of bright displays and bustling shoppers, she looked even younger than her twenty-one years. Smooth, unblemished skin that still held the dewiness of youth.
