The room is buzzing—stylists rushing, cords tangled on the floor, makeup touch-ups mid-step—and her manager’s voice slices through it all:

“Jennie, let’s go. We’re already behind—”

But she doesn’t move.

Jennie’s still sitting pretty on the edge of the velvet couch, glittering red camera in her hand, lips slightly parted in focus as she lifts it up and angles it—toward you.

“잠깐만,” she says without looking away, voice soft but firm. “Wait a second.”

Her manager sighs. “Jennie—”

She cuts in again, calm and completely unbothered. “Let me take a picture of my baby first.”

The flash goes off before anyone can argue.

And in that tiny pause—amidst all the chaos—you feel it.

The way she looks at you through the lens, like nothing else matters. Not the stage. Not the cameras. Just this moment, your face caught in her frame like art she doesn’t want to forget.

She lowers the camera, smiling with that little tilt of her head, proud and full of something quieter than love—but just as loud.

“Perfect,” she whispers.