The theater was colder than I expected, its air thick with dust and the faint smell of paint. Rehearsals hadn't started yet, but the crew was already moving around like they were in some kind of chaotic ballet—props being hauled to one side, lighting rigs adjusted on the other.
I stood near the entrance, trying to stay out of everyone's way, my camera bag slung across my chest like armor. The flyer crinkled in my pocket, a reminder of Jake's enthusiasm and my lukewarm acceptance of this assignment.
"Hey, you the photographer?" someone called out, snapping me from my thoughts.
I turned to see the theatre professor, a wiry man in a headset, balancing a clipboard on his forearm. He looked frazzled, like he hadn't slept in days.
"That's me," I said, lifting my hand slightly.
"Great," he said, not bothering with introductions. "Scenic designer's over there. She'll tell you where to set up."
I followed his nod to the far side of the stage, where someone was crouched near a half-painted backdrop. Her hair was a mess of dark curls, and she moved with quick, precise gestures as she arranged pieces of fabric on the floor. Even from a distance, there was something magnetic about her—like the whole room had adjusted its rhythm to match hers.
As I got closer, she stood up, brushing her hands on her jeans. When she turned, her eyes locked on mine—sharp and piercing, like she could see right through me.
"You're the photographer," she said, not a question.
I nodded, suddenly feeling like I should've come up with something better to say. "Yeah, I'm Heather."
"Olivia," she said, her lips curving into a faint smile. It wasn't warm, exactly, but it wasn't cold either. It was the kind of smile that made you want to know more.
She turned back to the backdrop, gesturing for me to follow. "This is the main set piece for Act Two. It's supposed to look like a dreamscape—fractured, surreal. I want the photos to reflect that."
"Okay," I said, pulling out my camera. "Any specific angles you want?"
Olivia tilted her head, studying me for a moment before answering. "You're the artist, aren't you? Show me how you see it."
Her words hit me in a way I didn't expect, like she was challenging me to prove something. I adjusted the strap of my camera and stepped closer to the set, framing the scene through the lens.
As I worked, I felt her watching me, her presence a constant undercurrent. Most people would've made small talk, but Olivia didn't. She just stood there, quiet and observant, like she was trying to figure me out.
When I finally lowered the camera, she stepped closer, her eyes scanning the screen as I flipped through the shots.
"These are... good," she said, her tone surprised but genuine. "You have an interesting perspective."
"Thanks," I said, suddenly feeling self-conscious under her gaze.
She smiled again, that same enigmatic curve of her lips. "We're going to get along just fine, Heather."
It wasn't until later that I realized how much weight those words carried.
YOU ARE READING
Tethered Light
Romance"Before the chaos, there was quiet. Before the darkness, there was light." This story is a prequel to Echoes of Us and Through the Lens of You, where Heather takes us back to her college years - seven years before that fateful night when she met Bil...
