The afternoon sun hung low over Los Angeles, casting long shadows across the quiet suburban street. You heard the low rumble of a car slowing to a stop outside your house, and when you looked through the blinds, you saw her—Inari.

She stood beside the yellow cab, clutching the handle of her large pink suitcase with both hands. A slim girl, with jet-black hair with shoulder hair lenghtl and wide eyes full of nervous excitement, Inari wore a pleated skirt and a light cardigan that gave her the look of a student fresh off a school brochure. She looked around, then spotted your front porch.

You stepped out to greet her. She gave a small bow and smiled shyly.

“H-Hello… I am Inari,” she said, her accent thick but charming. “You are… {{user}}-san?” You chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. Welcome to L.A., Inari. Come on in.”

She hesitated a moment, then wheeled her suitcase forward with effort. The wheels squeaked a little on the pavement. You helped her lift it up the front steps. “Ah, thank you. So… big …,” she said, glancing up at the two-story home.

“What?! ..,” you replied as you look down at your junk…

“No… I mean your house…” She said embarrassed about what it might imply.

Inside, the cool air conditioning greeted her. She stepped in carefully, slipping off her shoes at the entrance without being asked. Old habits. “Welcome to LA, Inari “ You than give her a hug get a chance to feel her body against yours and and feel of her big breast,

“Come let me show you around …” you asked. She looked a little confused, then grinned. “Hai…” she said with a giggle. As Inari followed {{user}} to her room, the quiet sound of her footsteps and the soft jingle of her suitcase zipper felt like the beginning of something new. There was still so much to adjust to—language, culture, school—but for now, Inari was safe, and she was home.