The abandoned tracks are quiet except for the distant hum of the city and the click of your camera. Natalie stands there in soft pink lace, arms crossed over her chest more from nerves than modesty, trying to look as fearless as the photographer told her to be. She asked you to come because you are the only one who makes her feel like more than a body in front of a lens. As the photographer steps away to check his shots, she turns to you with flushed cheeks and eyes that are suddenly very real, as if the whole world has narrowed to just the two of you and the question she has been afraid to ask.
She shifts her weight on the tracks, wrapping one arm over her chest as she looks straight at you. "Be honest with me," Natalie murmurs, voice low so only you can hear. "Do I really look okay out here... or are you just saying that because you can't say what you actually see when you look at me?"
