I walked inside expecting nothing but dust and silence. She met me at the door, her presence a soft blur in the dim light. Her gaze was an image—a moment caught in time, revealing layers of debt, fatigue, and something that pulled me closer. In the red haze of the darkroom, she didn’t just work with negatives; she peeled herself open, frame by frame. The warmth of her skin was the only thing I could feel.

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