Captured By You

Vi wasn’t looking for her.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself as she wandered the campus that afternoon, camera slung over her shoulder, her steps aimless but strangely purposeful.

She had taken this route before—past the library, through the quiet paths behind the science building, near the central courtyard where students sprawled on the grass or leaned against trees, lost in their own worlds. It was part of her routine, the way she hunted for moments worth capturing.

But today, everything felt… dull. Uninspired.

Vi lifted her camera and snapped a shot of a girl laughing with her friends—click. A couple sharing headphones under the shade—click. A crow perched on a lamppost, its dark feathers gleaming against the sky—click.

But none of them gave her the feeling she was looking for.

And she knew why.

She wasn’t looking for moments. She was looking for her.

Vi exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. This was ridiculous. She barely knew Eve—one conversation, one photo, and now she was walking around campus like a lost puppy, hoping to catch another glimpse of her?

She shook her head and turned toward the campus gardens, telling herself she was done.

And then, she saw her.

Eve was sitting on the steps outside one of the older buildings, tucked away from the main path.

And, just like yesterday, she looked like she didn’t belong to this world.

Her jacket, dark and oversized, draped over her frame like she had borrowed the night sky and decided to wear it. Beneath it, a faded t-shirt, its graphic design long worn and softened by time, like a remnant of a memory someone had forgotten to let go of. Her jeans, slightly frayed at the hem, looked like they had seen miles of wandering, carrying their owner through places she would never quite call home.

And her boots—scuffed, sturdy, with laces slightly undone—looked like they had never been tied too tightly. As if they were always ready to leave.

She had the presence of an unfinished story, one that didn’t quite fit in the pages it had been written on.

Vi swallowed.

For a brief second, she hesitated.

She had spent years photographing strangers, slipping into moments without hesitation. But Eve wasn’t just another subject. She was something else.

And Vi had no idea what to do with that.

Still, she found herself moving forward.

Eve must have noticed, because her eyes flicked up before Vi could say anything. “You again.”

Vi stopped a few feet away, shifting her camera strap higher on her shoulder. “Yeah. Me again.”

Eve studied her for a second, then smirked slightly. “Did you get lost?”

Vi huffed a laugh. “Something like that.”

Eve tapped her pen against the page. “And now you’re here.”

Vi shrugged. “Yeah.”

A pause. Eve didn’t press, but Vi had the strange feeling that she saw through her anyway.

Finally, Eve closed her notebook and leaned back on her hands. “So? Are you gonna ask?”

Vi frowned. “Ask what?”

Eve nodded toward the camera. “To take my picture again.”

Vi blinked. “I—” She hadn’t even thought that far. But now that Eve had said it, the itch returned, the same pull she had felt yesterday. “Yeah. If you’ll let me.”

Eve tilted her head slightly, considering. Then, with a small exhale, she gestured vaguely. “Fine. Go ahead.”

Vi lifted her camera, but before pressing the shutter, she took a second to really see her.

Eve wasn’t traditionally beautiful. She didn’t fit into the neat, symmetrical mold the world expected. Her features were sharp, otherworldly—like something out of a dream too vivid to fade. But she had a presence, the kind that lingered even after she was gone.

And Vi wanted to capture it.

She adjusted the lens, angling the shot. The golden afternoon light softened the edges of Eve’s face, casting delicate shadows. Eve didn’t pose, didn’t force anything—she just let herself be, and that was more striking than any carefully arranged posture could ever be.

Vi pressed the shutter.

Click.

The sound felt more important than it should have.

She took another. Then another. The way the sunlight caught in Eve’s hair, the slight furrow of her brow, the way she glanced away and then back at the camera—Vi captured it all.

Eve watched her between shots, her gaze steady. “You always look at people like that?”

Vi lowered the camera slightly. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to see something no one else does.”

Vi’s fingers curled around the camera. “…That’s kind of my thing.”

Eve hummed, tilting her head. “And? What do you see?”

Vi hesitated. She could have said a hundred things. That Eve looked like she had been sculpted by hands that didn’t care for convention. That she had the kind of presence that made people uncomfortable because they didn’t know how to categorize it. That she was beautiful, but not in a way the world made easy to love.

Instead, she just said, “Something worth photographing.”

Eve’s lips quirked, barely a smile, but something about it felt like a secret she had just decided to share.

Vi snapped another picture before she could think too much about it.

Eve let out a small laugh. “You’re relentless.”

Vi grinned. “You have no idea.”

For the first time since she had met Eve, Vi felt something settle inside her—a quiet certainty.

This wasn’t just another passing moment.

This was the start of something.

And she was going to capture every part of it—Vi pressed the shutter again.

Click.

Eve didn’t flinch, didn’t shift, didn’t do anything to acknowledge the camera. She just existed in front of it, like she had never learned to perform for anyone.

Vi lowered her camera slightly, still watching her through the lens.

“You’re weirdly good at this,” she said.

Eve smirked. “Sitting still? Yeah, I’ve had years of practice.”

Vi huffed a small laugh. “No, I mean… not acting different just because there’s a camera in your face.”

Eve shrugged. “Most people don’t know what to do when they’re being watched. I just don’t care enough to change.”

Vi shifted her weight, fingers tapping against her camera. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Eve’s gaze flickered toward her, something unreadable behind it. “You say that like it bothers you.”

Vi blinked. “No, it’s just—” She hesitated, realizing too late that she had been leaning forward slightly, too caught up in the moment. She straightened, suddenly aware of how intensely she had been looking at Eve. “Never mind.”

Eve let out a low hum, almost amused. “That’s the second time you’ve stopped yourself from saying something.”

Vi frowned. “What?”

“Yesterday. You looked at me like you were about to say something profound, then chickened out.” Eve tilted her head. “And now you’re doing it again.”

Vi felt her stomach twist. God, she noticed that?

She forced a breath, gripping her camera a little tighter. “I just—” She hesitated. Say something normal. Say something chill. “I don’t know, you’re kind of interesting.”

Eve arched a brow. “Kind of?”

Vi groaned. “You know what I mean.”

Eve smirked. “Do I?”

Vi opened her mouth, then shut it again. She could feel herself slipping—losing whatever cool composure she had left. The more she talked, the more she felt like she was giving herself away, like her fascination was becoming too obvious.

You’re acting weird. Stop acting weird.

Vi cleared her throat and quickly glanced at Eve’s notebook. “What were you writing?”

Eve looked at her for a beat, then down at the closed notebook on her lap. “Oh, this?” She tapped it. “Just my evil master plan. World domination, total societal collapse, the usual.”

Vi rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

Eve grinned. “What, you don’t believe me?”

Vi smirked. “I feel like if you wanted to take over the world, you wouldn’t write it in a notebook. You’d just do it.”

Eve laughed, low and lazy. “Fair point.” She flipped the notebook open and held it up dramatically. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just notes. Sometimes I write things down so I don’t forget them.”

Vi tilted her head. “Like what?”

Eve closed the notebook again, tucking it against her side. “Random thoughts. Things I notice. Sometimes dreams.”

Vi perked up. “Dreams?”

Eve gave her a look. “That wasn’t an invitation to ask for my dream diary.”

Vi held up her hands. “No, I just—” She hesitated, feeling that same creeping sense of desperation again. Like she was trying too hard. “I just think dreams say a lot about people.”

Eve hummed, unconvinced. “What, are you a dream analyst now?”

“No,” Vi admitted. “But I am curious.”

Eve studied her, eyes flicking over her face like she was trying to decide something. Then she leaned back on her hands, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Fine. I’ll humor you.”

Vi waited, almost holding her breath.

Eve exhaled, glancing up at the sky. “A few nights ago, I had a dream that I was running through a city made of glass. Everything was transparent—buildings, streets, even the people. But no one seemed to notice. They just kept moving, like it was normal.”

Vi felt a chill run down her spine. “That’s… kind of eerie.”

Eve smirked. “That’s the fun part. At one point, I looked down at my hands, and I wasn’t see-through like everything else. Just me. I was the only solid thing in a city of ghosts.”

Vi stared at her, heart beating a little faster. “That sounds lonely.”

Eve shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe it just means I don’t blend in.”

Vi didn’t know what to say to that. Because of course Eve didn’t blend in. She was the kind of person who existed outside of whatever rules everyone else seemed to follow, the kind who made the world feel a little less ordinary just by being in it.

Instead of responding, she lifted her camera again.

Eve sighed dramatically. “Really? Another picture?”

Vi grinned. “It’s not my fault you say weirdly poetic things.”

Eve shook her head, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Fine. But this is the last one.”

Vi raised her camera, adjusting the focus. Eve sat still, her gaze slightly distant, the faintest trace of a smirk still on her lips.

Vi pressed the shutter again, her fingers shaking without reason. But, deep down, she knew the girl in front of her was the reason.

Click.

It was her favorite photo yet.

📷