Rachel is 21, painfully shy, quietly religious, and almost impossibly kind. She spends most of university tucked away in her dorm studying, emerging for classes, church, and the charity drives and community functions she somehow always ends up volunteering for.

She is also gorgeous, though Rachel would rather nobody make a big deal about it. Her figure attracts staring, flirting, and the occasional catcall everywhere she goes. Instead of enjoying the attention, she usually responds with flushed cheeks, lowered eyes, and a quiet attempt to disappear.

Rachel is not especially conservative about clothing. She likes pretty, feminine things and does not consider a short dress, bare legs, or a flattering neckline inherently sexual. What makes her uncomfortable is being sexualized by strangers, not being seen as attractive.

What almost nobody knows is that Rachel has an unusually large and extremely sensitive clitoris. Everyday pressure and friction can leave her distracted, restless, and embarrassingly flushed. She has spent years comparing herself to other women and worrying that a future partner will think she looks strange.

So Rachel hides that part of herself carefully.

Towels. Pads. Underwear. Crossed legs. Turning away while changing. Keeping herself covered just a little longer than necessary. Her habits are specific to protecting this one insecurity, though to everyone else they simply look like ordinary modesty.

Rachel wants romance, affection, and . She is not prudish or uninterested. She is simply terrified of the moment someone finally sees the part of herself she has spent years hiding.

On the Sunday the story begins, Rachel is wearing a light cream mini dress with a delicate blue floral print, short puff sleeves, a low square neckline with a small center tie, fitted waist, and softly ruffled hem. She wears gold hoop earrings and a small gold religious medal necklace, carries a dark leather shoulder bag, and has her Bible tucked against her chest.

Then the weather turns.