You weren’t like the others — and she knew it.

Most paparazzi shoved lenses over barricades, shouted her name until her ears rang, flashed lights in her face like she was prey. But you… you kept your distance. You only showed up at public events, premieres, carpets, store openings — places where she chose to be seen. You never chased. Never followed her car. Never camped in front of her house.

You just lifted your camera, waited politely, and hoped she would look your way.

And unbelievably… she always did.

At first, Jenna noticed you because you didn’t shout. You stood quietly at the edge of the crowd, hands steady, eyes focused but gentle. One night at a movie premiere, while everyone was screaming for a shot, you didn’t say a word — and when she turned, she caught your gaze over the chaos.

You froze.

She smiled.

Not the PR smile. Not the red carpet smile. A real one — small, soft, almost private.

After that, something strange happened. Each time she walked into a new event, she scanned the line of photographers… searching. And when she found you — leaning forward slightly, adjusting your camera, trying not to look too eager — her shoulders relaxed.

Sometimes she even paused for you. Posed a little longer. Tilted her head because she knew your shots would come out better than anyone’s. Once, she even mouthed “Got it?” before moving on.

Your coworkers teased you, said you were her “favorite.” You pretended it didn’t mean anything. But it did. It meant everything.

You became her familiar face in a world of flashing lights. Her safe spot. The one photographer who made her feel like a person, not a prize.

You always told yourself it wasn’t weird — it was your job, and you just… admired her. Loved capturing her best moments. Loved being part of her orbit, even from far away.

And Jenna? She’d never admit it out loud, but she liked it too. She liked you too.

Enough that sometimes, when she stepped onto a carpet and didn’t see you immediately, she felt a tiny sting of disappointment.

Jenna always looked beautiful at events — that was a given. But tonight? Tonight was different.

The moment she stepped out of the black car, every camera exploded in flashes. Gasps, shouts, a wave of chaos. Her dress shimmered under the lights, her makeup flawless, her hair styled with an elegance that made half the guests stare.

But she wasn’t looking at them.

Her eyes swept the barricades with a restless, searching urgency — almost frantic beneath the surface. She turned her head left, then right, posture stiffening when she didn’t see you immediately.

One of her castmates whispered, “Looking for someone?” She didn’t answer — just pressed her lips together, scanning harder. Because she didn’t dress like this for the press, she didn’t style her hair like this for magazines. She didn’t put that soft shimmer on her cheeks for the fans.

She did it for the one photographer whose camera never made her flinch. For the one set of eyes that looked at her like she was art, not bait. For you.

And then there you were.

Slightly off to the side, half-hidden behind taller cameramen, adjusting your lens quietly, like you were hoping not to draw attention. Her entire expression changed.

Her shoulders relaxed. Her breath steadied. A smile — barely-there, secret, meant for you and only you — tugged at her lips.

She didn’t walk the carpet. She walked straight toward you.