THROUGH MY EYES

Chapter 5 — Tommina’s Offer

Chapter 5 — Tommina’s Offer

Tommina had a way of making risk sound like an investment. He arrived one morning with a folder and a face that had been softened by too many late nights. “There’s a collaboration,” he said, sliding the folder across the table. “A boutique studio. They want you for a series. It’s not the usual. They want to build a persona, not just a scene.”

Rena opened the folder and read the outline. The series promised narrative arcs, recurring motifs, and a production value that could lift her into a different market. It promised control—editorial input, image rights, a share of distribution. It also promised exposure on a scale that made her ledger tilt.

Tommina watched her as if he were reading a contract he had not yet signed. “This could be the ladder,” he said. “But ladders have rungs that break.”

She thought of the bakery downstairs and the woman who braided hair. She thought of the scar on her thumb and the way it caught the light when she braided. She thought of the way names could be minted and spent. The offer was tempting. It was also a negotiation.

They met the studio’s creative director in a room that smelled of citrus and old contracts. He spoke in terms that were both aesthetic and fiscal. “We want to create a world,” he said. “We want to give audiences a reason to care.”

Rena asked about control. “Who owns the footage?” she asked.

“We can negotiate,” he said. “But the market has expectations.”

Tommina’s jaw tightened. He had learned to read the fine print. “We want terms that protect contributors,” he said. “We want archival access and a say in the final cut.”

The director smiled in a way that suggested both taste and calculation. “We can work with that,” he said. “But understand: the more control you ask for, the more you’ll have to give in other places.”

Rena left the meeting with a ledger that had new columns. She had to decide what to protect and what to trade. The series could buy her a different kind of life; it could also cost her the ability to place mirrors on her own terms.

That night Tommina took her to a small bar where the lights were low and the music was older than the city. He ordered two drinks and watched her with a look that had become rare: something like care. “If you take this,” he said, “we’ll have leverage. But leverage is a thing you have to spend.”

She thought of the Mirror Project that had been floated by a producer who claimed to want truth. The studio’s offer and the documentary’s promise began to look like two sides of the same coin. One promised narrative control through production; the other promised control through context.

Rena folded the coin in her palm and felt its edges. She would have to choose which currency to spend. For now she would sleep on it and let the bakery’s ovens keep the block warm. In the morning the mirror would ask for an accounting. She would practice the tilt of her head and the laugh that read like a promise. The ledger would wait.