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The first time they met, Mizi was just a rookie, nervous and blushy and a little scared of her own shadow. Her first album was bubblegum pop, pink in her hair and clothes and everywhere. Mizi would nervously adjust her clothes over and over, tearing up when her staff scolded her.
Behind the camera, Flora Seth observed her. Photos never turn out well if the subject is unhappy with them, a phenomenon non-photographers never understand. Even if Mizi was such a pretty crier (how unfair is that?), she had twice as beautiful a smile. She wanted to cheer her up—only for the sake of the shoot, of course.
Flora encouraged her from behind the camera. She made heart gestures and thumbs up every time Mizi did something right (which was everything, again, unfair), until her smile was genuine, making for better photos. People rolled their eyes at her, how she paid special attention to Mizi the way she hadn't to any of her subjects before. Mizi was exceptionally beautiful, the newest eye candy of the industry. But Flora has seen plenty of pretty people in her career—nothing pulled her towards her subject quite like Mizi did. A magnet made of sugar and clouds, beckoning Flora to stick to her like cotton candy.
At the end of the shoot, she asked Mizi if she could buy her a coffee, as congratulations for doing well at her first shoot. Flora bit her lip before she could break into the widest grin when she said yes.
(Some ways behind her, a short girl with haunting eyes watched them, lip curling in disdain as she made Mizi laugh. Flora never did notice her, even after the end.)
Somewhere in the between, their acquaintance turned into friendship, going out for coffee until there was no longer an excuse. Every shoot for Mizi that was offered to her she took, any chance to see her again. It lit something new in her every time Mizi accepted her invitation with a smile and a laugh, like she had expected it.
It wasn't a big deal. It was a sweet, silly little thing. Sometimes, when their eyes meet, her heart would flutter because of that amber gaze. Sometimes, when they stood too close, she would yearn to close the distance, to hold her hand, maybe. Mizi was undeniably beautiful—but her heart was even more so, sparing kindness to the lost, the needy, to everyone, whether they deserved it or not. More than her beauty, it was her heart that enchanted her.
Yet, nothing stays the same forever.
Mizi changed. The pressure of the industry increased, her staff pushing her to do shoots she was uncomfortable with. Despite herself, Flora attended to each of those shoots, just to protect her, if nothing else. If she didn't do it, Mizi would get stuck with far worse photographers, those who went further than just exploiting her. At least this way, she could keep away the men who harassed her, the people who'd take advantage of her. She wanted to protect her. She needed to.
But she was Mizi, the siren idol stealing the hearts of their entire nation, and she was Flora, a mere photographer.
They both knew it. But it still hurt to hear Mizi say, "You know nothing about this world. You're just some second-rate photographer."
She only cried when Mizi couldn't see her.
Yet still, she remained in her heart. Flora had always been too caring, too naive, giving out second and third and fourth chances like they were candy. Mizi didn't apologize for her comment—Flora didn't ask for her to. She kept showing up to her shoots, she kept demoting men who harassed her, and she remained right there, for Mizi to take her offer, if she wanted.
She never did.
And one day, Mizi never showed up to her photoshoot. Flora's whole world changed again.