English Version: Dandelions in the Wind

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A sleek black sports car stopped in front of a grand house. Emerging from the driver's seat was Charlotte, who stood beside the car, casually resting one arm on its shiny roof. She effortlessly lifted her sunglasses, repurposing them as a headband. The sky was a canvas of overcast gray, complementing the cool breeze that fluttered around. Charlotte's attire was understated yet chic: a grey long-sleeve shirt paired with tailored black slacks and sensible flat shoes. Her blonde hair flowed freely, playfully tousled by the wind.

"Tell me again why I should be thrilled about riding in that thing?" Dionne's voice carried a mix of disdain and curiosity as she stepped out of the house. She gestured towards the sports car with a flick of her hand. Dionne's fashion differed from Charlotte's; she wore a sleek black dress that hugged her knees, perfectly paired with high black stilettos that highlighted her legs. "It's like trying to sit gracefully in a kiddie ride," she complained while pausing by the passenger door. From her perspective, entering the sports car was a less-than-graceful endeavor—its low seats necessitated an awkward sprawl, particularly unmanageable when wearing a dress or a skirt, often compromising her poise.

Charlotte's lips curved into a knowing half-smile as she closed the gap between them. "Because it's not about comfort, babe. It's about style," she declared, her tone light yet persuasive as she swung open the passenger door smoothly. "Besides, I'll always help you with the heavy lifting—doors, seatbelts, you name it." Her approach was tender as she leaned in to kiss Dionne's cheek. "Get in," Charlotte urged gently, holding the door open, ready to assist.

Dionne's cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink, and with a playful yet slightly annoyed glimmer in her eyes, she rolled them at Charlotte. "Fine," she murmured with reluctance as she elegantly maneuvered herself into the car.

Once Charlotte slid into the driver's seat, she noticed Dionne fumbling with the seatbelt, her fingers clumsily grappling with the unfamiliar contraption. "Why do these things have to be so complicated? It's like you need an engineering degree to buckle up," Dionne grumbled, her frustration evident as she tugged at the seatbelt. The sports car's mechanisms differed from those in a standard vehicle, baffling Dionne as she puzzled over which part to pull or button to press.

Charlotte's laugh was soft and understanding. "Come on, it's not that bad. Here, let me help you." She leaned closer, her movements graceful and practiced as she effortlessly secured the seatbelt around Dionne with a gentle click. "See? Perfect fit. It's all part of the sports car charm."

Dionne rolled her eyes, a hint of amusement softening her exasperation. "Thanks," she acknowledged, her tone lightening. It was a familiar ritual—Charlotte always helped her with the seatbelt whenever she rode in this sports car. Dionne let out a soft chuckle. "If by charm you mean a crash course in claustrophobia, then sure, absolutely charming," she quipped, her sarcasm veiled thinly with humor.

With a confident smirk, Charlotte ignited the engine, the sports car's powerful roar filling the air, vibrating through the sleek vehicle. "Ah, but you can't deny the thrill of it. The power, the speed—it's exhilarating!" she declared, her eyes alight with excitement. As she spoke, Charlotte pressed the accelerator, the sports car leaping forward smoothly as she expertly handled the steering wheel, her grip steady and assured between the sudden burst of speed.

Dionne's grip on the seatbelt tightened suddenly as the sports car picked up speed with an assertive roar. "Oh yes, nothing quite says 'thrill' like the constant fear of flashing your underwear every time you get out of the car!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with irony and amusement as they swiftly overtook a lumbering bus.

Charlotte laughed heartily at the comment, her dimples becoming more pronounced with delight. "Well, that's why you've got me. I'm here to help with doors and cover-ups. Consider me your modesty guard," she replied, a playful tone in her voice as she eased off the accelerator approaching the traffic light.