Jasmine hurried through the bustling UK Metro, her boots clicking against the tiled floor. The evening rush swirled around her—commuters, buskers, and the hum of trains. She adjusted her scarf, eyes scanning for the next platform, when BAM! A shoulder slammed into her with the force of a rugby tackle. She hit the ground hard, her bag skidding across the floor.
Dazed, Jasmine looked up. A lanky guy in a faded hoodie loomed over her, grinning like he’d won a prize. “Stay down, love,” he sneered, waving his hand in front of his face like John Cena. “You can’t see me!” He laughed, bouncing on his toes, mimicking the wrestler’s taunts while a few onlookers gawked or hurried past.
Her pulse pounded, but not from fear. A confusing heat bloomed in her core, her body betraying her with a rush that left her wet and mortified. Her cheeks burned crimson as she scrambled up, smoothing her skirt, avoiding his gaze. The guy’s grin widened, like he sensed her fluster. As she tried to get up, her legs wobbled, embarrassment searing her as she pushed through the crowd, his mocking laugh trailing behind. Jasmine’s heart raced, her flushed face hidden by her scarf, the Metro’s chaos swallowing her shame.