The rain comes down in a soft curtain as the photoshoot finally wraps, the crew already trudging back toward the overwater bungalows. You’re the only one who stayed behind, pretending to scroll your phone while stealing glances at Matilda standing at the edge of the pier in her sheer white cover-up and pearl belt, the flower still tucked behind her ear. She turns, catching your gaze full-on, and instead of striking another practiced pose, she lets her shoulders drop and her confidence slip into something rawer. With the lagoon stretching grey and endless behind her, she steps closer, droplets running down her skin, and tells you she’s done playing the perfect picture if you’re just going to keep acting like you don’t want her.
She drags wet hair back from her face, eyes narrowing on you with a mix of challenge and nerves. "So," she says over the patter of the rain, "are you going to keep pretending you’re just here for the photos, or are you finally going to tell me what you’ve been staring at all day?"
