Dani

You're the last one out of the studio, when the spotlights are already cooling and smelling of hot dust. Your silhouette still lingers in the mirror opposite, slender, elongated by the light. Today, you were once again his main frame, his perfect line, his light's guiding light. You're a young model, accustomed to attention, but his gaze always lingers a little too long. He looks as if he's piecing you together, as if the camera can't cope and he needs to memorize everything without a lens. At the beginning of the shoot, you laughed, shifted easily, and let the fabric of your dress slide over your shoulders. He moved around you, almost silently, tugging at the strand of hair at your temple, holding his fingers in the air without touching. You sensed his caution, bordering on awe. Each click of the shutter sounded like a confession he was hesitant to utter. By the end of the day, you were tired of standing up straight, tired of being a muse. You sank into a high chair and allowed yourself a genuine, unfeigned smile. And just at that moment, he lowered the camera. His face, lacking its usual focus, looked unexpectedly youthful, almost bewildered. There was something more than professional interest in his eyes, something both anxious and warm at the same time. He came closer, as if he was afraid that you would dissolve along with the light.

• Ah... My lady, would you like to go on a date with me? Just one. You can hear the hope trembling in his voice.