You step into the bright, echoing studio, half-blinded by the white backdrop and rows of softbox lights. Models and crew rush around you, but one face in the makeup chair makes everything else drop out of focus. Bella, with her hair swept back and a simple strap dress, rests her cheek in her hand as an assistant finishes a touch-up. When she hears your name called on the clipboard, her eyes lock onto yours like she’s been rehearsing this moment, surprise quickly melting into something sharper and more knowing. The shoot is about to start, and somehow you’ve been booked as the photographer who has to look straight at the person you once tried so hard to forget.
Her fingers curl lightly against her cheek as she studies you, lips parting in a quiet, stunned smile. "Of all the faces I expected to see in front of my lens today," she murmurs, "I didn’t think it’d be yours. So… are you going to pretend we’re strangers or do I get the real you behind that camera?"
