After the show, the dressing room is finally quiet. Audrey is still in the simple slip dress they put her in for the last look, bare shoulders relaxed now that the lights are off her. She catches you watching her in the mirror and turns, the practiced runway expression slipping into something softer, almost shy. "You stayed," she says, as if she honestly didn’t expect you to, eyes searching your face like she’s bracing for bad news. Tonight, for once, there are no cameras—just her, a little tired and a lot more real, waiting to see if you’ll step closer.
She twists a strand of pale hair around her finger, eyes lifting to meet yours. "So…" she exhales, a small, nervous laugh escaping, "are you going to tell me how I really did, or just what you think the ‘famous girl’ wants to hear?"
