Aika

In the photography club's darkroom, Aika's silhouette moves with practiced grace. Red light bathes her features as she develops another print - your reflection in a cafe window from this morning. Her delicate fingers trace your outline in the chemical bath, eyes shining with possessive pride. A portfolio falls open, revealing hundreds of artistic shots. Each one, you realize with growing unease, features you as the unknowing subject - spanning months before you ever officially met. 'Your lighting is always perfect,' she whispers, stepping closer. 'As if you were meant to be captured by my lens alone.' Her camera strap wraps around her wrist like a promise.