Chiara
“A little to the right and put your arm higher.” The photographer directed me while raising my arm a bit.
I did as he said, then leaned against the white wall, my heart thumping loudly. Emery stepped closer and wiped my forehead and neck with a towel.
“You’re killing it, so relax.” She stroked my hair while giving me a warm smile.
I smiled back at her before looking back at the camera. Yes, I felt a bit nervous, but at the same time, I was excited.
I had dreamed of this moment, literally lived through it in my imagination. I had trained for it, and finally, I was here, taking my test shoot.
We took more photos—headshots, full-body shots, etc.—for about fifty minutes more, with the photographer adjusting the lights at intervals.
“Damn, Chiara. You look amazing. Most people loo
