Hidden in the Light

Est's POV

Later that night, after Nut and I said our goodbyes under the willow tree, I walked home with slower steps than usual.

The city was quiet in that weird way it only is past midnight—where everything feels like it's holding its breath. I should've been tired. But my mind... it felt like it had finally started working again.

As soon as I got to my room, I dropped my bag, switched on my desk lamp, and grabbed my sketchbook. I didn't even bother sitting down properly—I just leaned over the desk, heart thumping, like the idea was already there, waiting for me to write it.

And then it came.

The sound of stillness.
Muted colors, soft lighting. Something that feels like a memory.
William—not as a musician, but as a boy who writes songs when no one's listening.
Not polished. Not perfect. Just real.

I stared at the page for a second, then underlined the last sentence twice.

That was it. That was the shoot.

I could see it all now—the way the light would fall across his face, the way he'd hold his guitar like it was a part of him, not a prop. The way his expression would shift when he forgot I was even there with a camera. That was the image I wanted.

For the first time in days, I smiled to myself.

I could do this.

⸻

The next day, by the time the sun was fully up, I was already at the studio, rearranging things. I switched the backdrop to a faded grey cloth I hadn't touched in months. Pulled the lights closer, turned the brightness down. Everything softer, slower. Like morning light in a quiet house.

I even set up a little corner with a stool, an old rug, and a vintage lamp I borrowed from Ciize's room without asking. She'd get over it.

I stood back, looked at the setup, and nodded.

This is going to work.

Now I just had to wait for William.

———

The clock ticked past 5:50.

I was adjusting the lens when I heard the door creak open behind me.

Footsteps. Then his voice—quiet, careful.

"Hey."

I turned around, and there he was.

William.

Wearing a shirt and black trousers. Guitar slung casually over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. His hair was a little messy, like he'd just run a hand through it before walking in.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound normal. Chill. Professional.

He glanced around the studio, then smiled. "This place is cool."

"Thanks," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "It's, uh, kind of a mess. But a controlled mess."

William laughed. "My kind of vibe."

It was a little awkward at first. I showed him the setup, explained the concept in short, jittery bursts. He nodded along, quietly absorbing it all. No questions, just trust. That made it harder and easier at the same time.

"You can sit here first," I said, gesturing to the stool.

He sat, guitar on his lap. His fingers rested on the strings like he wasn't even thinking about it. Like music lived in him without asking permission.