Henry's reaction left Amy momentarily stunned.    

She had often dismissed him as just a boyish spirit, forgetting that beneath this facade lay a heart of unyielding resolve and courage. The simmering emotions he had kept locked away were susceptible, and her gentle provocation stirred them like ripples in still water.

Amy wore casual canvas shoes that day, loosely perched on her feet. Suddenly filled with an unexpected daring, she slowly lifted her right leg, tracing it gently along Henry's calf with a deliberate slowness.    

Henry's eyes widened in disbelief, his composure slipping with each passing second. It reminded him of a visit to an old town where he had stumbled upon an abandoned house. Its walls were overtaken by wild vines, vibrant and withered in places, tangled together in a chaotic mesh that left him breathless at a glance. Now, he felt like that very wall, with vines—these rushes of sensations—climbing steadily, accelerating his pulse and quickening his breath.

As Amy's foot found a resting place between his legs, tingles of exhilarating pleasure coursed through him, both his rational side and a surprising buoyancy were caught off guard.    

She deftly used her foot to continue the caress, the warmth of Henry's body radiating through the fabric, igniting a flame inside him.    

Amy, maintaining her facade of diligence, scribbled with her pen, "You're so tense." She flicked the note towards Henry, leaving him momentarily dazed by the blend of innocuous problem statements interspersed with this bold and provocative quip.    

Startled, Henry reflexively caught her foot, but Amy, with a gentle insistence, pressed her toes against his increasingly tight trousers.    

Henry inhaled sharply, his brow furrowing under dual strains of discomfort and restraint. Amy, thinking she'd caused him pain, subconsciously tried to retract her leg.

Misjudging her intent, Henry held on tighter, freeing a hand to write a plea:

"Don't."

While Amy also wanted to stop, her foot was effectively captive, her wordless protest, mouthed rather than voiced, begged: "Let go."    

Henry reluctantly released her, and the fleeting slick sensation vanished as Amy's foot slipped back.

The metaphorical vines retreated, yet his lower half remained taut, a poignant void where moments ago there had been fervent vibrancy—as if the entire encounter were nothing but a fleeting dream.

Amy was filled with a tinge of regret. Intimacy had been her goal, drawn with a yearning to fall in love in that tender, fumbling manner of youth: handholding, hugging, kissing—step by careful step. Yet with Henry, their relationship defied such orderly progression, always unruly regardless of age.    

Had she been too hasty?

Was he now alarmed by her forwardness, and what came next?

Amy pretended to focus intently on a lengthy reading comprehension, though not a word registered.    

Likewise, Henry found himself just as scattered, his thoughts a tangled knot unraveling his concentration. He dared not look at the instigator, enduring the taut tension that lingered far longer than it should.