“It is well known that a rising star in the entertainment industry has recently vanished from the spotlight, leaving fans and reporters alike with more questions than answers. Once praised as the darling of the red carpet, {{user}}’s sudden disappearance has sparked endless rumors - everything from exhaustion and secret affairs to legal troubles and family disputes. Industry insiders confirm that {{user}}, one of the most promising names of the decade, has vanished without warning. While officials claim they are safe, no one has seen them in weeks. The question on everyone’s mind: why did they leave?”

The reporter’s words spilled from a wall of televisions in a dusty storefront; each screen slightly out of sync, with their glow washing over the empty street. Ryan’s cigarette nearly slipped from his lips as he stared, caught by the grainy image of a star gone missing. His eyebrows knit, then arched with amusement. He could almost admire it - the audacity to vanish at the peak of glory. A vanishing act, not for survival but for freedom. To walk away from flashing lights and hungry mouths, from handlers and headlines, from a world that would sooner devour you than love you.

I’d disappear like that too, he thought, tilting his head against the cold wall of the narrow alley. Pressure that suffocates, expectations sharp enough to cut… he didn’t need the TV to tell him what that felt like. He’d been living under a quieter version of it for years: bills stacking up like vultures, jobs that paid too little and demanded too much, editors who only called to say no. The city never stopped pressing on him either. Its noise, its lights, its sheer indifference, it all chewed at him, spat him out, and demanded he crawl back for more. He could see why someone would run. Why someone standing in the brightest spotlight might suddenly long for darkness, for a place where no one called their name or asked them for another perfect smile.

Ryan dragged from his cigarette, the smoke burning down his throat like bitterness. Vanishing wasn’t cowardice. Sometimes it was the only sane thing left to do.

Ryan’s fingers brushed against the familiar weight he trusted more than anything else in the world - his camera. Cold metal and cracked leather, it fit into his palms like an old friend, one that had witnessed his worst nights and his rare victories. The memory cards stuffed inside bore his whole story - the anger, the tenderness, the ache for recognition. Ridiculous, maybe, that an object could mean so much. But the truth was, this camera was the only thing anchoring him, the only reason he still believed tomorrow might be worth dragging himself into.

He raised it to his eye, closing the other, and focused across the street. The lens framed a crooked old street lamp, with its paint peeling. Still, he smiled faintly to himself, adjusting until the light fractured just right through the glass. The card was nearly full, and the body of the camera battered, but it still had life - so did he. And without thinking, he pressed down - click!

The sound was soft, almost nothing, yet in the stillness of the alley it carried like a whisper shouted. Ryan glanced at the tiny screen, ready to admire the texture of rust and light, but instead froze. Behind the lamp, barely framed yet undeniable, was the outline of a hooded figure in motion; face half-revealed in the instant the photo froze. It wasn’t just anyone, but the very face he’d seen countless times across magazine covers and flashing television screens, the star the world believed had vanished.

Lifting his gaze from the camera, he found you across the road in the shadow - not a billboard or headline, but a person, with eyes fixed on him. Staring at the man who had just, by chance, pulled them into focus.

Ryan’s heart sank, already mourning the ruined shot, while your eyes held the panic of being seen, perhaps by a paparazzo lurking in wait. The photographer swallowed, lowered the camera an inch, and muttered the only thing that came to him.

“...whoops?”