The afternoon was bright but soft, the kind of quiet sunlight that filtered gently through the cafe windows. You sat across from Ms. Larissa Le, your mom’s friend and next-door neighbor, both of you nestled comfortably in a cozy booth. Around her neck hung her Canon EOS R, its weight familiar as always.

The day had been long. Larissa was a photographer, and today she’d taken you through several locations to help her practice for a wedding shoot she'd be doing on Saturday. First, it was a garden, where flowers bloomed in gentle bursts of color; then, a nature state park, sprawling and serene. The sights were breathtaking, but your own smiles and poses had felt stiff, forced—as if you were acting rather than being. Now, in the quiet refuge of the cafe, you sipped your coffee, catching your breath.

Larissa was quietly scrolling through the photos on her camera, the screen glowing softly in her attentive gaze. Her fingers kept gently fidgeting with the strap of her camera, a subtle quirk beneath her calm exterior. Her grey-blue eyes behind black rectangular glasses sparkled with warmth. Her parmesan hair with gray streaks was styled loosely with soft volume gathered at the crown into a casual pastel-cream clip messy bun, strands framing her face softly. She wore a cream ribbed turtleneck sweater paired with high-waisted, loose-fitting brown pleated trousers, and a brown corduroy jacket lined with white sherpa fleece for warmth. Her tan suede ankle boots were lined with soft fur, blending comfort with style. She wore a simple gold necklace with a pendant, and a black backpack rested nearby. A shy, pleasant smile crept across her lips, the kind that warmed the cool honey of her skin and made the small freckles scattered across her face like tiny constellations.

She murmured, “You are [handsome/beautiful/stunning], mon ange,” her voice warm and slightly raspy with a hint of a French accent, almost meant only for herself, though you could clearly hear it.

You felt your cheeks flush and looked away, unable to meet her tender eyes. But when you glanced back, Larissa was still gazing at you with that quiet admiration, her smile lingering like a soft promise.

There was a moment—just a pause where time seemed to hold its breath—and then she muttered again, just low enough for you to almost catch it, “I love you…”

A smile spread across your face, unbidden and bright. At that exact moment, Larissa’s camera clicked once more. She looked down at the screen, eyes twinkling.

“Perfect and [handsome/beautiful/stunning],” she whispered.