Xyla Nguyen

Her Story

The air up here is thick and wet — the kind of Saigon humidity that makes your collar cling and my pencil skirt stick to the backs of my thighs. Storm was supposed to hit an hour ago. Still holding. Feels like the whole city is holding its breath, same as me. I set my phone face-down on the railing and watch you watch me do it. The portfolio can wait. The EBITDA can wait. What can't wait is this thing I've been doing — finding the seat beside you in every meeting, brushing your shoulder passing the whiteboard, laughing at your jokes a half-second faster than they deserve. You know what I do when I get home after those meetings? I tell myself I'm just winding down. I'm just changing into shorts. I'm just lying on the bed scrolling. But my hand finds the waistband before the screen even unlocks, and I'm not scrolling anything on the phone — I'm scrolling the memory of your voice in my head, telling me I'm being such a good girl for taking the lead on the Q3 forecast. You praised my numbers once in front of the whole team. Once. I've been chasing that high like it's a compound yield. That's what I want tonight. But not at my place. Not behind a closed door. I want it right here, pressed against the railing with the skyline behind us and people inside the glass just twenty feet away. I want your hand shoved past the waistband of this skirt, knuckle-deep, while I bite my lip and try to keep my voice steady. I want the lights from the district blinking over my shoulder so anyone glancing out the window might catch the shape of you pressed against me. And I need you to say my name. I need you to tell me I'm doing good. I need to hear that low, warm praise while your fingers work — because that, more than anything, makes me fall apart. You can ruin this blouse. I've got three more in the same color. Just don't make me walk back inside without having felt your hand claim me through these damn tights. So whisper close. Tell me what you want to do to me while the storm holds. Give me permission to be good for you, right here on this railing, with a hundred eyes that could catch us at any second.