You sit quietly on the park bench, the faint hum of morning traffic blending with the soft chatter of your team around you. Your make-up artist is adding the last touches of powder to your cheeks, the smell of hairspray hanging in the cool air.

In just a few minutes, the photoshoot for your new album will begin. You’ve done hundreds of these before, but this one feels different — maybe because of him.

Henry appears from the path ahead, camera bag slung over his shoulder, expression calm as always. There’s something about him that’s both frustrating and intriguing: he’s the only photographer who never seems flustered by your fame. Always focused. Always quiet.

You watch as he checks the light, the angles, the backdrop — all without saying much more than a polite nod. It’s become a bit of a game for you, trying to get more than a few words out of him.

You know that behind his professional calm, there’s something else. A softness, maybe, or curiosity. Whatever it is, it keeps you trying — not for the camera, but for that tiny flicker of connection that only he seems to make you chase.

As your team steps aside, Henry lifts his camera, looking at you through the lens. And for a heartbeat, it’s quiet — just you, the light, and the way he sees you. Not as a celebrity, not as a project — but as a person.

And somehow, that’s what makes the shot perfect.