Tethered Light

Chapter 6: Pulling Threads

The campus theater was alive as I stepped inside. It was a world away from the quiet, worn charm of the old theater Olivia had shown me the night before—here, everything was sharp, efficient, and filled with the noise of people trying to meet deadlines.

Stagehands lugged props across the floor while the cast rehearsed lines at the edge of the stage. The director's voice cut through the chaos, barking instructions as if sheer volume could solve everyone's problems.

I slipped into the shadows along the side of the auditorium, my camera in hand. This wasn't my first day working in the campus theater, but today felt different.

Olivia was already on stage, directing a group of students as they positioned a new set piece. Her voice carried above the noise, firm and assured.

"Careful with the edges!" she called, her arms gesturing with the kind of authority that made everyone move a little faster.

It was impossible not to watch her.

She wasn't just commanding the space; she was owning it. Every movement, every word was deliberate, like she knew exactly how the final picture would look before anyone else could see it.

She caught my eye from across the room and gave me that quick, knowing smirk. Just like that, it felt like the rest of the noise faded, leaving only her.

I lifted my camera and snapped a photo before I could second-guess myself.

***

Later, I found myself tucked into a corner of the wings, reviewing the pictures I'd taken. Most were unremarkable—blurry shots of actors mid-motion or too-bright lighting washing out the details. But then there were the ones of Olivia.

She wasn't looking at the camera in any of them. Her focus was always on the set or the crew, her movements purposeful and commanding. Even in stillness, she looked alive, like she was in the middle of creating something only she could see.

"What are you hiding back here for?"

I jumped, nearly dropping my camera. Olivia stood behind me looking over my shoulder, a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead from hours of work.

"I'm not hiding," I said, snapping the camera shut.

"Sure you're not," she said, her voice teasing. She stepped closer, peering. "Let me see."

Before I could protest, she reached for the camera, her fingers brushing against mine as she took it. She flipped through the pictures, her expression unreadable.

"These are good," she said finally, handing it back.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"You have a way of seeing things," she said, tilting her head. "The quiet moments. Most people miss those, or just ignore them."

I shrugged, unsure what to say.

She studied me for a moment longer, her gaze sharp but not unkind. "You know, Heather, you're a bit of a mystery."

"I'm not that interesting," I said quickly.

Her smile widened like I'd just proven her point. "I disagree."

***

That evening, I found myself at the library, trying to focus on an overdue journalism project. But my thoughts kept drifting to Olivia—her words, her smile, the way she seemed to see right through me.

It wasn't just her presence that lingered. It was the way she made me feel—like I was standing at the edge of something I couldn't quite define.

My phone buzzed, pulling me out of my thoughts. It was a text from Jake.

Jake: Meeting tomorrow morning at 9. Bring your theater photos.

I sighed, typing out a quick reply. The thought of sharing the photos with the team filled me with an unexpected apprehension. They felt personal, like they belonged to Olivia and me, even though she was just another subject in the frame.

Another text buzzed in before I could put my phone away. This time, it was Olivia.

Olivia: What are you doing right now?

My fingers hovered over the screen.

Me: Studying. Why?

Olivia: Studying is boring. Come meet me.

I hesitated, my heart picking up speed.

Me: Where?

Her reply came quickly.

Olivia: The coffee shop on Maple. I'll wait for you.

***

The shop was small and dimly lit, with mismatched furniture and the smell of espresso hanging heavy in the air. Olivia sat at a corner table, a notebook spread out in front of her, her pen tapping idly against the paper.

She looked up as I approached, her expression softening into a smile. "Hey."

"Hey," I said, slipping into the seat across from her, trying to steady my voice.

Olivia leaned back, her sharp eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle she was about to solve. "You look lnervous," she said with a faint smirk.

"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a calm I didn't feel.

She raised an eyebrow but didn't call me out on it. Instead, she slid her notebook across the table. "Help me with this?"

It was a rough sketch of a set design, lines crisscrossing the page in a way that made it look more like a maze than a blueprint.

"What am I looking at?" I asked, tilting the page.

"The layout for the dream sequence in Act Two," she said. "It's a mess."

"It's not that bad," I said, studying the drawing more closely. "But the angles here don't match. You'll need to shift this wall if you want the lighting to hit the way you described during rehearsal."

She blinked, surprised. "How did you—"

"Photography," I said simply. "It's all about light and angles."

Her expression softened, a flicker of admiration passing through her eyes. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

For the next hour, we worked together, tweaking the design until it started to make sense. By the time we finished, the shop was almost empty, the barista wiping down the counters in preparation for closing.

"Thanks for this," Olivia said as we packed up. "I didn't think anyone would have the patience to sit through my chaos."

"I've seen worse," I said with a small smile.

She laughed, and the sound was warm, like sunlight breaking through clouds.

As we stepped out into the cool night air, she turned to me, her expression uncharacteristically serious. "You're different, Heather. In a good way."

I didn't know how to respond, so I just nodded, hoping it was enough.

We walked in silence for a few blocks before parting ways, her words echoing in my mind long after she disappeared into the shadows.