INT- STUDIO 

“Good!” the photographer called.

I sat down and struck another pose.

“Awesome!”

The flashes kept going, lights trained on me from every angle. The studio was spacious—no surprise, since it belonged to one of the top fashion brands. I wore a flowing floral dress, delicate petals scattered around me like a dream brought to life.

“Almost done,” the photographer said.

But in my head, I was already somewhere else. I hadn’t slept much—just a few hours—because I was too excited to rest. My mind buzzed with possibilities, imagining what was to come and what my choices would lead to.

I shifted into a few more poses, smiling as my favorite words finally came.

“That’s a wrap!”

Applause broke out.

“That was great, Fire,” the photographer said, flashing a thumbs-up before disappearing with his assistant.

I stepped off the set, stretching my neck. Finally—it was over.

“Coffee?” my manager asked.

I shook my head with a small smile, waiting to see if she remembered the real favor.

She sighed. “Yes, Fire. I’ll drive you to the airport.”

“Yay! Thank you so much!”

While the others packed up, we slipped away and headed for the national airport.

“Are you sure about studying abroad?” she asked while driving, clearly still against the idea. “We have so many great culinary schools here. Why go so far away?”

She always wore her usual look—short blond hair, favorite coat-and-pants combo, no-nonsense attitude.

“I’ve told you already,” I said, checking my hand-carry for the tenth time, “I don’t want special treatment just because I’m a model. People here will act differently once they find out.”

The traffic light turned red, and we stopped.

“It’s not a bad thing,” she argued. “A little consideration won’t hurt. Besides, you could ask for a class schedule that fits around your work.”

She turned to look at me.

“That’s exactly what I don’t want. Come on, Manja!” That was my shortcut nickname for “manager.”

“I just want a normal school life. I think it’s cool!”

Okay, maybe I had read one too many novels, but still—this was something I really wanted. I needed to start from the basics again.

“You don’t like kind professors? You’d rather have some strict, terrifying one who gives you a hard time?”

The light turned green, and we started moving again.

“Maybe?” I said with a grin. I just wanted to learn. Someday, I’d cook for Papa. Then, maybe I could bring more Asian flavors to the world. That was my plan—at least for now.

The flight went smoothly—or maybe I just slept the entire way. It was a twelve-hour trip, but it felt like a blink. When I landed, it was 5 a.m. The air felt different, and the people looked unfamiliar. Or maybe it was just me.

Dragging my suitcase through the terminal, I flagged down a taxi to take me to my new apartment—just a short distance from the university. I was about to admire the city through the window when my phone rang.

“Hello, Papa!” I said, my voice full of cheer. I knew he was probably imagining a hundred worst-case scenarios already—not because he wanted to, but because he was always so anxious.

“Oh, Zafire, where are you? Still on the plane? We should have had dinner together.”

He sounded so sad, so worried.

“Papa, I’m already here! I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“How can I not worry? If only your mother were still around, she’d be there with you…”

He always said that. Like she had just passed yesterday. But it had been so long… so long.

The taxi came to a stop.

I said goodbye to Papa and ended the call. Time to carry this heavy suitcase upstairs.

I pushed the apartment door open. It looked exactly like I imagined from all the online listings. Beige walls, simple and neat. I was glad I chose the fully furnished option, even if it cost a bit more. A gray couch faced the TV, and to the right was a small kitchen with a four-seater dining table. A door beside it led to the bedroom.

Inside, the space felt just right. A vanity, a large closet, and—thankfully—a big bathtub I specifically asked for.

What did it feel like? A mix of excitement and nervousness. Could I really do this? Was it truly worth it?

But something about the unknown—the possibilities, the chance to learn—dangled in front of me like a spark, just waiting to be caught.

I took a deep breath.

School was waiting.