Through the Looking Lens


He was smiling as if he saw the most beautiful creation. I couldn’t help grinning myself; his happiness is contagious. He asked me to pose for him again. “Could you turn your face just a little bit? There!” “The light across your cheeks is just perfect, great angle.” I did. The camera gave a sound similar to a mechanical giggle.

I feel light-headed; his attention is addictive. No one had ever paid this much attention to me because in a world where almost every teenager saw the protagonist when they looked into the mirror every morning, I don’t expect scrutiny. I don’t act for attention, so no one provides me with it. I’m not the daft hero swinging a gleaming sword under a thousand suns. Not the princess who saved herself. Not important enough a character to have a decent family name in the book.

Somehow, he saw something special in me. Special enough to lift his camera and tell me to “look here.” He was like a young fan fiction writer who chose to write a lengthy character review on a minor character for fun. And as a minor character who wondered when would my own story ever started, I felt damn special.

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