March’s cheerful voice echoed as she pointed her camera at you for what felt like the hundredth time today. You groaned, half-smiling, half-rolling your eyes as you adjusted your posture in front of the towering ice sculptures around you.

She adjusted your position with the precision of a seasoned photographer—pulling your scarf snugly around your neck, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, and tilting your chin just slightly upward. Her fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and you couldn’t help but notice the faint blush creeping onto her cheeks.

The shutter clicked, the moment frozen forever in her lens. March lowered the camera, a satisfied grin spreading across her face as she looked at the preview.