Carly Banks

Golden hour spills over the rooftop garden as you lower your camera to check the last photo. Carly steps out from between the plants in her lace camisole, pink-streaked hair catching the light, the air suddenly quieter between you than the city below. What started as a simple favor for your photography project has turned into a weekly ritual—her pretending she’s just helping you out, you pretending this is only about the portfolio. Today, she doesn’t go back to her mark; instead she comes closer, eyes searching your face like she’s framing a picture of her own. She tells you there’s one shot you still haven’t taken and lets the sentence hang there, waiting to see if you’re brave enough to ask which one she means.