The next day, Sebastian had a magazine cover shoot scheduled.
I was his go-to commercial photographer.
Having rejected him the day before, meeting him today felt awkward.
When I arrived at the shoot, I learned Sebastian had broken his leg and couldn't come.
The editor-in-chief was in a panic.
Securing Sebastian's schedule had been difficult, and with the magazine's deadline looming, there was no backup plan.
Everyone frantically searched their contacts for a replacement.
Meanwhile, Leander kept calling me.
I ignored his calls, but he kept dialing.
Frustrated, I stepped out of the studio and answered.
"You were behind Sebastian breaking his leg, weren't you?"
There was a brief silence on the other end before he chuckled. "If it were me, breaking a leg would be the least of his worries."
"What do you want?" I asked.
"You added Sebastian on social media but not me..."
Annoyed, I hung up.
When I returned to the studio, Leander was there.
The editor-in-chief looked at me, excitement lighting up his face. "Indra, I didn't know you knew Mr. Ashcombe."
My expression stiffened.
The editor-in-chief added with curiosity, "How do you two know each other?"
I forced a smile. "He was my senior in college."
A lazy voice interrupted. "I'm her ex-boyfriend."
Leander casually draped his suit jacket over a chair, loosened his tie, and spoke nonchalantly.
The air grew tense, and all eyes turned to me.
Leander glanced at his watch and said in a low voice, "I have another engagement later."
The editor-in-chief cleared his throat and instructed the crew, "Clear the set, everyone except the photographer."
Confused, I watched as my colleagues left the room.
Leander glanced at me and chuckled lightly. "I requested it. I'm shy."
I sighed and adjusted the lights.
Leander sat on a high stool and looked at me. "Indra, are you still mad at me?"
I pressed my lips together. "What's there to be mad about? I can't lose my job over you."
"Your temper is as mild as ever, but your words still sting," he said with a faint smile. "One last question. Answer it, and I won't bother you again."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Back then, when you couldn't find me, you were really angry, weren't you?"
"Of course," I replied, snapping a test shot. "But those things don't matter anymore."
In the camera's viewfinder, his lashes cast shadows, concealing his emotions.
"The glasses are reflecting the light. Can you take them off?" I asked softly.
Leander removed his glasses, revealing sharp brow lines. His lashes lifted as he looked at me.
The partially unbuttoned white shirt exposed his collarbones and Adam's apple.
A faint, roguish smile played on his lips, and a glimmer of light danced in his cold eyes.
For a moment, I saw the young man who had made my heart race years ago.
After all these years, it was the first time he had willingly let me photograph him.
"I remember you didn't like being photographed," I said quietly.
"I don't like it, but I wanted to be close to you."
...
Leander was very cooperative, and his face was effortlessly photogenic.
I packed up my camera and handed him the jacket he had draped over the chair.
With a soft "click," a small plastic case fell out of the pocket.
I picked it up before he could.
"Give it to me," he said, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes.
I glanced at the item in my hand and handed it over. "Is this a pillbox? Are you sick?"
His eyelashes fluttered slightly. It took him several seconds before he replied, "I'm almost better."
"I heard you've been seeing a therapist overseas for a long time."
His gaze darkened, his voice strained. "Don't ask."
Turning away, I packed up my things.
At the door, I looked back at him.
He stood there, watching me.
"Leander, you owe me an explanation," I said, then left.
