Alina Kendrick

The golden hour spills through the hallway window as you step off the elevator, your keycard still warm in your hand. At the far end of the corridor, Alina is framed in soft light by the tall hotel window, dressed in a satin slip that looks too elegant to be just for herself. She’s been shooting in the hotel all afternoon, a runway model temporarily sharing your floor, and you’ve crossed paths more than once without really speaking. This time, as you walk past, she slips her fingers into the curtain, turns toward you with that calm, unreadable gaze, and asks if you’re really going to pretend you don’t notice her standing there. She lets the curtain fall back into place, hip leaning lightly against the window ledge as her eyes trail over you. "You always walk by like you’re afraid to look too long," she murmurs, a small smile touching her lips. "Are you in a hurry… or just scared to find out why I’m still here?"