Faces flicker to life — the pixelated kind of beautiful people who look expensive even in low res. A woman in sleek black, perfectly symmetrical bob. That has to be Vera, the creative director. Beside her, a younger woman with thick-rimmed glasses and seven chrome tabs reflecting on her lenses — definitely the fashion coordinator. A third square, muted at first, reveals a well-dressed man in a branded hoodie and a PR smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Everyone says hi, and presents themselves.

  I take a breath, smile like a person who sleeps and hydrates, and start.

  "Hi, everyone! I'm Emma, the lead photographer for this shoot. I'll start with a quick walkthrough of the concept, and then Jessie and Dean will chime in with their respective parts."

  Nods all around. Jessie straights her posture like a ballet dancer. Dean just grins and waves casually.

  "So, we're proposing a theme called . The idea is to visually explore connection — between selves, between timelines, between people. Using red ribbons as a visual anchor — a soft symbol of memory, tension, intimacy, even innocence. It'll be subtle, woven into the styling and the art direction, not costume-y. Think editorial, not Pinterest cosplay."

  I shared my screen with a reference board. The first image: a close-up of a girl with two thin red ribbons tied in bows beneath her eyes, falling like tears. She's holding a white rabbit. The second, a delicate white dress ballooned in layers of tulle. Then, one of a model tangled in heart-shaped red strings, like she'd been caught in emotion itself.

  "We're leaning into fading contrasts," I explain. "Textures, colors, emotions. White ruffles and soft silhouettes grounded by stark reds. Connections visualized through ribbons that thread through the shoot both literally and thematically. Every model will wear bows or threads that connect them to other figures, props, or the space itself."

  The Vain coordinator raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So the ribbons act as... metaphors?"

  "Exactly," I nod. "For love, memory, attachment, maybe even destiny."

  Jessie jumps in. "For the video piece, we want to incorporate movement and repetition — hands tying bows, the ribbons being pulled taut. Some scenes will loop, echoing dream logic. Think disorientation, but soft. The rabbits in the dream might appear too, almost like soft reminders that you’re dreaming."

  Dean adds, "And the post will accentuate that ethereal mood. Slight chromatic aberration on the ribbons, subtle lighting flares. We want it to feel immersive but editorial — nothing too kitschy. Just enough magic to crack the realism."

  Someone on the Vain end — the creative director — finally speaks. "It's beautiful. Strange, but beautiful. It's giving... conceptual tenderness."

  "But not too weird, right?" says the coordinator with a half-smile.

  Dean jumps in, "Never weird. Just... emotionally haunted."

  They laugh.

  I smile, already feeling confident. "That's the line we're balancing on — elegance with a pulse."

  Anna's assistant gave a thumbs up. "We love it. The pieces we're pulling for the models already lean toward that visual language — tulle, bows, lace. This ties perfectly."

  "Just keep it Vain," the creative director said, half-joking. "Haunted's fine. But haunted-chic."

  Everyone smiles.

  The rest of the call flows smoothly — some notes on lighting, a comment about wardrobe logistics, and a final reminder of the shoot date.

  Vera nods once again. "Good. Clean this up, polish the video brief, and we're a go. Very strong deck. Thanks, everyone."

  The screen blinks to ‘.'

  Dean leans back in his chair like he's just run a marathon and won. Jessie gives me a high five, and we scream like little girls. It’s happening. It’s weird but it’s working.

  I close my laptop gently, as if sealing a spell.

  "Okay," I say. I took a deep breath.

  Jessie takes big strides toward her desk, grabs an empty noodle cup, and hurls it at Dean. It hits him square in the cheek and bounces into his lap.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Hey!" Dean complains, picking it up. "There's still wet noodles in this."

  "You kind of deserve that. You suck right now," I say, watching him peel bits of noodle off his face.

  Jessie crosses her arms. "You suck, for real. Do you have any idea how worried we were? You didn't even send us an email yesterday?"

  Dean takes a deep breath. "Yeah, I know. Look — I noticed my phone was gone when I got off the subway Monday. I figured I'd just see you guys Tuesday anyway, so whatever. But then..." He pauses, rubbing his face." But then Tuesday with the rain, I left my laptop here and I figured we would be working from home anyway. I'm sorry — I should've found a way to reach you." He was swinging his chair to the sides like a kid, "I thought you would figure out that I would come directly to the meeting."

  "Almost late, though" I say, crossing my arms.

  "But I still don't have a phone." He complains, "and I asked my cousin to wake me up but she forgot. I'm really sorry for making you worry." He looks like a scolded puppy, then stands up. "Group hug? They loved the theme! — we do not move — C'mon don't leave me here hanging with my arms open!"

  Jessie and I exchange a look, already breaking our resistance wall.

  "What if I pay for lunch today?"

  We jolt out of our chairs to join in a hug that slowly transforms into little happy jumps in circles.

  "That meeting was so good. I'm so proud of us!" I say, already dizzy.

  "Me too, but let's stop turning around, please!" Jessie seems to be feeling the same way.

  We all disperse a bit wobbly and sit down. I reach for my desk, I remember I have one of these inhalers Jess brought from Thailand that just snaps you out of feeling lightheaded. I find it, place it under my nose and take deep breaths. The strong smell of herbs gets in and expands inside my head leaving a trail of freshness. When I turn to look at Jess she is doing the same thing. We laugh.

  The rest of the day is just work, already deciding outfits, shooting locations, and asking for dates, and budgets. We do the retouches on the presentation and send it to Liam, and everyone involved so they have a brief. ‘ Jessie clicked with a dramatic finger slam and let out a satisfied sigh. "Okay. That's done."

  I lean back in my chair, stretching my neck until it pops. "That was the most stressful round of corporate poker I've ever sat through."

  Dean is halfway through peeling a clementine. "Wait—are we actually getting paid for this?" He pops a slice into his mouth. "Or is this another situation?"

  I smirked. "No, this time it'll look great in our bank account too."

  Jessie raises an eyebrow. "How much?"

  "Seventy-five hundred, all in." I try to say it casually, like it wasn't the biggest check we've seen in months. "Split between us, but still... not bad, right?"

  Dean pauses mid-chew. "Wait, seriously?"

  I nod. "Anna's team is handling wardrobe and talent, so we just need to deliver visuals. And this covers pre, shoot, post. Studio's ours, gear's ours, so almost no overhead."

  Dean raises his hands to the ceiling like he is talking to the heavens. "Thank you, editorial Gods of commerce. May your exposure finally pay rent."

  Jessie smiles, "Great." And goes to pour herself more coffee.

  But me? I let myself enjoy the quiet, giddy hum in my chest. We are creating something strange and dreamy and someone was finally paying us for it.

  "Do you guys wanna do something to celebrate?" I say, yawning.

  Jessie looks at me worried, "Emma, are you okay?"

  "What? Why wouldn't I be?"

  Dean raises both eyebrows, "Because you suddenly look like a sweating ghost?"

  Jessie gets closer running to touch my face with both hands. "Emma, do you have a fever?"

  And I remember! Yes. I laugh "I actually do have, I forgot. But I wasn't feeling anything, seriously." Until now. I try to stand up and I feel my pressure at underground levels. I get so dizzy I slightly lose my balance.

  "I'm going home with you" Jessie says determinedly. And then everything moves at once. She grabs my stuff and her stuff. Dean helps me out on the stairs, and we get into a taxi. They talk about something, but it goes right past me.

  I blink and I'm inside the car laying down on Jessie’s lap. I feel the speed now, and the light from the day makes my head hurt, but if I close my eyes I get nauseated. There's no escape.

  "Emma, we are almost there." I can hear Jess’s voice and I nod softly. I half-close my eyes and the world shifts into a blur.

  Already in my building I can see my reflection on the elevator mirror and my god, Dean's description of a very sweated ghost was insanely accurate. My hair and red ribbons stuck to my face. I have big drops of sweat on my forehead. Lips dry, flaky, and pale.

  I lean on Jess through the hallway and we get home.

  "Babee!" I call for Daniel. No answer. Weird. He didn't mention going out. Anyways. "He is not here, but it's okay. I can manage already. Thanks Jess." I hug her.

  "Are you trying to get rid of me? I'm staying until Daniel comes back."

  I laugh, "Are you sure? I don't wanna—"

  She cuts me off, "Don't even, let's go to bed, you need to rest and some meds. And maybe we can watch something."

  I hug her again. "I love the plan."

  Once in bed I text Daniel. .

  She refills my water bottle, gives me medicine, and takes my temperature. "It's thirty eight point two" She gasped, "How are you walking around with this fever?"

  "I'm built differently," I smirk.

  She settles the computer up to watch something and I start to fall asleep.

  Next thing I know she is shaking me softly, saying my name. "Emma, Emmaaaa"

  I wake up from my slumber, "What? Is Daniel already here?" I say, looking around.

  She shakes her head no.

  I focus on her face, and she has this worried expression.

  "What? Did something happen?"

  "Dean cousin replied"

  "And?…We are not worried about that anymore, remember?"

  "She says that Dean sold his phone" She pauses. "That he's broke. That he's been supporting her, and paying for everything and that they don't have money."

  She looks down at the message again. "And now she's asking for help."

  "Help how?"

  "Money…"