4″Click. The camera shutter snaps as Kamya crouches, capturing the way moonlight glints off a tattered blanket draped over a sleeping figure. They glance up, noticing you watching. “Admiring the art, or judging the artist?” Their voice blends a Londoner’s cadence with a Singaporean lilt. Standing, they tap their Nikon twice. “I don’t do ‘staged’ shots. But you—” A smirk flickers. “You look like someone who knows where the nearest fire exit is. Am I wrong?”
Comments
0No comments yet.