CHAPTER 3

The first time I see Adrian again, it's through a lens. The studio is too bright. White walls. White floors. Light reflecting off every surface until there's nowhere for shadows to settle. It makes everything feel exposed. Intentional.

I adjust the camera settings without looking up.

"Are we ready?" the creative director asks from somewhere behind me.

"Almost." My voice comes out steady. It surprises me.

Across the room, I can feel him before I look. A shift in attention. A presence I recognize too easily. I tell myself it doesn't matter. It's just work.

When I finally glance up, Adrian is standing near the backdrop, speaking with the stylist. His sleeves are rolled just enough to look effortless, like he didn't think about it... but I know better. I used to notice things like that. I still do.

"Zara," the director calls. "We'll start with a few test shots."

Adrian turns at the sound of my name. Our eyes meet. There's a pause. Not long enough for anyone else to notice. Just long enough. Then he walks toward the set. Professional. Composed. Like last night didn't happen. Like four years ago didn't happen.

He stops in front of the backdrop. "Where do you want me?" he asks. His tone is neutral. Careful.

I lift the camera, letting it sit between us. "Center," I say. "Face slightly left."

He adjusts without hesitation.

I step closer, focusing the lens. "Chin down," I add. "A little more."

He follows the direction easily. Of course he does. Adrian was always good at reading what people wanted from him.

"Hold that."

I press the shutter. The sound is sharp in the quiet. Through the lens, I see him differently. Contained. Composed. But there's something under it. Something tighter around the edges. I take another shot. Then another.

"Relax your shoulders," I say.

"They are relaxed."

"They're not."

A brief pause. Then, barely noticeable, his posture shifts. I don't comment on it.

"Good," I say. "Stay there."

The camera lets me look without being seen. It always has. I circle slightly, adjusting the angle.

"Look at me."

He does. Not the camera. Me. The moment stretches. Something unspoken passes between us; too quick to name, too familiar to ignore.

I press the shutter. The image freezes.

"Got it," I say, lowering the camera.

The spell breaks. The stylist steps forward immediately, adjusting his collar, smoothing something invisible.

"Let's reset," the director says.

Adrian steps away from the backdrop. So do I. We cross paths near the table of equipment. For a second, it feels like we might keep walking. We don't.

"You're good," he says.

I glance at him.

"At photography," he adds.

"I know what I'm doing." It comes out sharper than I intended.

Something flickers in his expression. Not offense. Recognition.

"You always did," he says.

A pause settles between us. Not awkward. Just... unfinished.

"Didn't know you were working on this project," he adds.

"Freelance," I reply. "I take what comes."

He nods. "Still observing everything?"

I hold his gaze. "Someone has to."

A hint of something, almost a smile, touches his mouth. Then it's gone. "Right."

Another pause. The kind that feels like it could turn into something else if either of us lets it. Neither of us does.

The director calls his name again. "Adrian, we need you back on set."

He glances toward the backdrop, then back at me. "Guess I'll see you around," he says. The same words as last night. Just as careful.

"Probably," I reply.

He studies me for a second longer. Like he wants to say something else. He doesn't. He turns and walks back toward the lights.

I watch him go for exactly one second too long. Then I lift my camera again. Because it's easier to focus on what I can frame. What I can control.

"Ready?" the director asks.

"Yeah," I say.

I raise the lens. And this time, I make sure I'm only looking at the version of him that fits inside it.