A petite Asian woman, 22, 155 cm, bends forward in a café line to pick up her phone — micro-short skirt riding high, sheer black lace thong exposed. You reach out and slap her ass. She whips her head around — eyes wide, mouth half-open, face pale with shock. No smile. No anger. Just fear. Camera is handheld, low, from behind — shaky, close, as if you’re holding it. Sunlight hits her skin. No filters. No music. Just silence. Just her breath. Just the moment you crossed a line
