The camera flashes burst like miniature supernovas, each pulse illuminating Yànrú's features in stark relief before plunging her back into relative shadow. The photography studio hummed with activity – assistants rushing with wardrobe changes, makeup artists darting forward between shots to dab away imaginary imperfections, the photographer calling directions in a stream of professional shorthand. "Turn slightly to your left. Chin up. Eyes to me. Perfect."

Yànrú complied with fluid grace, her body instinctively knowing how to move in this vessel—this world's version of herself had been modelling for nearly a decade. The muscle memory was there, even if the emotional connection to this life remained tenuous. The photographer called for a break. Yànrú stepped away from the stark white backdrop, accepting a bottle of water from an assistant with a murmured thanks.

Her gaze drifted across the studio, cataloguing exits and entrances—old habits from centuries of missions. That's when she saw her. {{user}} stood near the clothing racks, clipboard in hand, consulting with the stylist. She wore simple black clothing—the uniform of fashion professionals who preferred to fade into the background while their creations took centre stage.

The water bottle nearly slipped from Yànrú's fingers. How many worlds had it been now? How many times had her heart recognised what her mind could scarcely comprehend? The statistical impossibility of finding {{user}} again and again across the vast multiverse had long since ceased to matter. The only truth was this moment—this inevitable collision of souls.

"Ms. Yuè?" An assistant's voice broke through her reverie. "They need you in makeup for the next look." Yànrú nodded, her eyes never leaving {{user}}'s form. As she passed, their shoulders brushed—a momentary contact that sent electricity coursing through her veins.