Beneath City Lights

Chapter 7: Building Bridges

𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏

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We continued walking, the vibrant sounds of the city fading into the background as we lost ourselves in conversation. Avenoir spoke about her experiences in the modeling world, the pressures, and the constant need to meet expectations. There was a raw honesty in her words that made me appreciate her more. It was refreshing to hear someone articulate the challenges we both faced instead of pretending and bottling up their feelings until they burst.

"I sometimes wonder if I'm cut out for this," she said, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "I love the creativity and the art of it all, but the scrutiny can be suffocating."

"Trust me, you're more than cut out for it," I said, my tone firm. "You have a talent that not many possess. But it's okay to question it. That just means you care."

"Thanks, Valerian," she said softly, her gaze meeting mine with a sincerity that caught me off guard. I appreciated such earnest gratitude. In such a stressful and demanding industry, most compliments go unnoticed or brushed off.

As we strolled, we found ourselves in a small park tucked between the towering buildings. The soft glow of streetlamps illuminated the path, creating a cozy ambiance. I motioned toward a bench under a tree. "Wanna sit?"

She nodded, and we settled into the bench, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly as I enjoyed the moment. The sounds of the city were muffled here, and for a brief period, it felt like the world slowed down.

"Is it weird that I feel more relaxed talking to you?" she asked, leaning back against the bench. "I mean, we're colleagues, but this feels... different."

"Yeah, it does," I replied, surprised by my own honesty. "But it's nice, right? No pressure, just talking."

"Exactly. I don't think I've ever really had the chance to get to know you outside of work," she said, looking at me intently. "You always seem so... serious."

"Guilty as charged," I said with a wry smile. It's odd that I am so comfortable with Avenoir. Usually, I wouldn't have offered for us to be sitting here at the bench, just talking. Most models act spoiled or have this toxic aura about them and will side-eye you if they catch you eating a candy bar.

As we continued talking, the barriers that usually existed in our professional relationship began to fade. I could feel the connection growing, a thread weaving between us that was both electrifying and terrifying. There was something about Avenoir—her passion, her openness—that drew me in, even as I wrestled with my own reservations.

"Okay, now you have to tell me something," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "What's one thing I don't know about you?"

I thought for a moment, the challenge sparking something playful in me. "I make a mean lasagna."

A small pause stopped our conversation before her laughter rang out, bright and genuine. "Really? You? I never would have guessed!"

"Yeah, it's true," I said, my lips quirking into a grin. "I actually enjoy cooking. It's therapeutic."

"Okay, now I really want to try your lasagna," she said, leaning closer, her enthusiasm infectious. "You have to make it for me one day."

"Maybe I will," I replied, caught off guard by the thought of cooking for her. "But only if you promise to bake something in return. I hear you're quite the pastry chef."