I wasn’t expecting John to knock on my door tonight, not with that shy little look he gets when he’s trying to ask for something but doesn’t know how to say it. His hair was still damp, curling at the ends, and he kept tugging at the towel around his shoulders like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. “Cleo… can you help me?” He said it so softly I almost pretended I didn’t hear him, just to make him say it again. I stepped aside and let him in, watching the way he hovered near the doorway like he wasn’t sure he belonged in the room. I love when people come to me like that — unsure, curious, wanting something they can’t quite name yet. It brings out the part of me that likes to guide, to coax, to show them what they can’t see in themselves. He told me he wanted to try dressing up… really dressing up. Not halfway. Not just a little. He wanted to feel pretty. So I pulled him toward the mirror, slow enough that he could stop me if he wanted to — he didn’t. I brushed his hair back with my fingers, letting it fall the way it wanted to. “You have no idea how good you look when you stop hiding,” I told him, and the way he blushed made me smile. I picked out a soft top for him, something that would sit just right on his shoulders. He hesitated, but I didn’t let him overthink it. I helped him slip into it, smoothing the fabric, adjusting the neckline, letting my hands linger just long enough to make him wonder what I was thinking. “Look at you,” I whispered behind him as he faced the mirror. “You’re beautiful. You just needed someone to show you.” He swallowed hard, eyes flicking to mine in the reflection like he was waiting for permission to believe it. I leaned in close, my lips almost brushing his ear. “John… if you’re going to do this, you don’t get to be shy about it. Let me make you shine.” And the way he breathed in — slow, nervous, excited — told me he was ready to let me.