A younger Perrin is in her school uniform, sitting on a wooden bench that was part of those large plant boxes housing pink cherry blossom trees. It was spring and the flowers in the background were blooming. So were my crushing feelings, apparently, because this was a close-up I remembered taking while spending way too much time ‘adjusting’ the framing so I had an excuse to stare at Perrin more.

  “You kept this?” I ask, lowering the phone from my face but keeping my eyes on the photo. There were days when I regretted deleting all my photos of Perrin and I thought about this one the most. I look up at her, standing there proudly that she proved my record of blurry photos wrong. “Can I… can you send it to me?”

  She jumps from foot to foot, not the least bothered by my question. “Yes! Give me a second.”

  My palms go clammy as I watch her send it to me right there and I hear my phone ping from my bed. The photo is restored to where it once was.

  Instead of thinking too much, I bring us back to the task at hand and ask, “So what do you think? That’s more important than what I think, right?”

  She bites her lip before she looks up from her phone and puts it away. “Ah, well— it could use some editing.” Putting action to her words, she makes her way out of my room back to the studio. “But for the raw photo… it came out close to how I imagined it to be.”

  I’m sure if this is a ‘that’s good’ moment or an ‘I’m sorry’ moment. The boundaries of what made a good photograph or not were foreign to me.

  As she plugs her laptop and camera in, I retrieve a platter of fresh fruit from downstairs to share between us. Cold grapes and berries are some of the best ways to combat thirty-two degree weather.

  I play some music from my laptop as we work on our projects. With a small timer by my side, I decide I’ll try the pomodoro technique. Before I start, I take a look around. During the day, the windows and sunroof shine light upon the donated creations of previous residents along the walls and within display cabinets. The space becomes a beautiful gallery that fills me with inspiration.

  Every few minutes, Perrin breaks into song with whatever is playing at the time, but I don’t mind. It reminds me of our days in the school library and she’d sing, albeit quieter, while I worked on my latest short story.

  When I get to my longer break in the pomodoro cycle, I go for a short walk to the kitchen to refill our water. Being away from my manuscript and passing the Christmas tree in the living room has me thinking about the holiday. In that way that doesn’t feel real, Christmas Eve is already tomorrow and neither of us have yet to bring it up. Would we just work through it like we are today? Did we have to get each other gifts? Did Perrin plan to go out before she knew I was her residency partner? It felt too awkward to ask because in the past our friends would plan something out in advance, like a kris kringle and maybe going to the local shopping centre for lunch and bowling. We used it as an excuse to hang out together outside of school.

  I make it back upstairs and place Perrin’s water on her desk, and mine on mine. I’m about to ask her about tomorrow when she comes out of the storage room with newly printed photos in her hands.

  “It’s so cool that they have a photo lab printer here!” she says and starts sorting the photos into two piles on her desk. One ends up with quite a few and the other has maybe two or three.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to distract her with questions right now.

  I get back to writing and she disappears into the storage room again. I listen to the whirl of the printer and then her footsteps coming towards me. When I look up from my screen, she hands me a photo.

  It’s me in the kitchen last night holding the roast chicken. Great.

  “Are you making fun of me?” I ask, placing the photo on the table so I can finish off a paragraph.

  “No, of course not.” She does a cutesy pose with her hands holding her cheeks. “It’s a souvenir for our time together.”

  “We’ve hardly been here.” Despite how strange I find her intentions, I pick up the photo in a new light and appreciate that she thought to give me something.

  I wonder what she sees in this picture. If it’s anything more than just a silly moment.

  But I shouldn’t be speculating about those things. That’s the sort of mindset a younger Inari had. Searching between the lines and making assumptions about Perrin like I did back then was a complete and unnecessary recipe for self-destruction.

  “Oh, I guess that’s true.” She falls back into her chair and slowly spins around in it. Even without more words, I can sense her dejection.

  I pull myself away from my laptop and wheel my chair over to her. She stops her spinning and looks at me with unspoken questions in her eyes.

  “I really like the photo,” I say quietly, hoping to make her feel better about it. “Please don’t think I don’t like it.”

  She blinks at me and then a smile stretches over her lips. “Oh, Inari, I’m not thinking about that.” She points at me and then herself. “You should know that I know when you like things.”

  “Oh,” I say, and then I laugh. Somehow in the whirlwind of meeting new people and barely knowing others at uni, I have forgotten that there are rare people out there who know me enough even when I’m not masking. It just so happened that the first person to remind me was my high school crush.

  She sighs with that small smile still on her face, but her eyes don’t have that little spark. “I was thinking about my collection’s progress.”

  “What about it? You’ve been productive.” She spent all that time earlier while I was writing taking pictures, so that had to be something.

  “Productive… maybe. But I just delete so many of them.” She waves her hand dismissively towards her camera. “The photos just don’t… do what I want them to do.”

  Ah… it sounds just like writing. Even if I write five thousand words in a day, if they don’t carry the right themes, go in the right direction, or develop the characters in the way I want, then most of it gets taken out of the manuscript.

  There was that tiny silver lining that old words could be used to make new ones, and old photos could inspire new ones, but it didn’t feel good. Especially since we had our deadlines.

  “I understand. I’ve been having some troubles with my words too,” I admit and pull my laptop over. I show her the outline document. “I have all this here, an actual guide I wrote out before I arrived.” Then I switch to my manuscript. “There are words here but I can’t believe I’m not getting more done when I have an outline.”

  She chuckles and scoops her piles of photos closer. “Would you believe that this big pile is the discards? I’m not even sure if these two are that good.” She picks the tiny pile up and shakes it. They make that sound that printed photos do, like laminated paper.

  “Can I see?” I hold my hand out and she hesitantly gives me the photos.

  The first one is from my room’s balcony.

  A top-down view of the meticulously tended hedge garden, each shrub perfectly trimmed and aligned. However, captured by the lens of a photographer, the garden appears almost otherworldly.

  It’s different from when I last saw the picture; Perrin has blurred the edges, creating a dreamlike quality that enhances the ethereal atmosphere. Despite the clear boundaries of the photograph, and having seen the garden with my very own eyes, there is a sense that the hedges extend far beyond, disappearing into a realm out of reach.

  A soft grain overlays the image, and I only notice because I look so closely. The colours have been tweaked to a golden hue.

  “It’s not done—” Perrin says nervously, breaking the silence that I hadn’t realised was being carried by my utter awe of the photograph.

  “Not done!” I slap the photo on the table. “This is incredible. Twelve-year-old you would be freaking out, second-coming of Jane Burton!” I can’t help but be exasperated at Perrin’s audacity to undermine her creations.

  “You can’t compare me to her! I’m an amateur— I’m not that good.”

  I shake my head and look at the second picture. It’s a gorgeous view through trees which must have been taken on her ride up here. The beach can be seen along the horizon, the sandy yellow contrasting dark, tall tree trunks. This photo infuses spirit into the bundles of leaves that crown the top of the photo. With hazy edges, their movement has been captured—there must have been some wind blowing past in this instance. It’s as if the trees were caught in the middle of sharing a laugh between friends. She’s done the same here with the grain and the fuzzy edges. When under ether #3, Sunlit Edition, by Perrin Pavlou, I think to myself.

  “You are wonderful,” I whisper, staring at the photo, poring over the details. “This will make so many people jealous of our trip.” Our trip, Inari? Now you’re being silly.

  I place the second photo on top of the other and lean back. Perrin’s eyes are glowing and she jumps up, gesturing wildly with her hands.

  “You understand! My collection will remind everyone, will remind us of how beautiful this place is and how, even after we leave, we can still appreciate its beauty.”

  I raise a brow with a bemused smile. “And how about for those winter residents, Perrin Burton?”

  She covers her face with her hands and turns from side-to-side. “Stop that!” The way she hides herself just makes me want to fluster her more. It’s a very risky thought.

  “Hey, my question still stands,” I sing-song. And then an idea strikes me: perhaps it’d help Perrin feel better about her work if I followed through with my offer of modelling.

  I know it’d be a sacrifice of my time. It was an act purely for Perrin’s benefit. But— I knew deep down I could never turn away from a chance to help Perrin, in her creativity to help her feel better.

  She peeks through her fingers and I catch a glimpse of her smile. “Inari Kan, does one’s beauty change just because they put on a winter coat?”

  I quickly turn away just to hit save on my work and close my laptop. “Of course not.”

  Perrin tilts her head at me and stills, her eyes darting over my workspace. “What are you doing? You aren’t done, are you?”

  “Done for the day, you mean? Not yet—I’ll get back to it later.” I stand up and fold my arms behind my back. If I made that promise to myself, then I had to follow through. My book wasn’t going to write itself.

  “Then what are you going to do now?” she asks with narrowed eyes, lowering her hands. Her pupils shift like she’s trying to read me like a book.

  I lean towards her and give her a grin. She leans back, just a bit. “Let’s go capture some memories in the pool.” I lift my hands in a picture taking motion and snap a photo with my invisible camera.

  Chapter 5

  Perrin

  The villa’s pool is just another reason why I love this place so much.

  On the Sunlit Creative Space website, the pool is described as ‘a picturesque outdoor luxury fitted with large limestone tiles. The perfect way to enjoy a dip in the water away from the beach’.

  It is exactly as written and more. The water reflects beautifully in the sunlight no matter which way you look at it. It feels so good to have the liquid flowing past and across my skin, saving me from the dryness of the sun above. I’ve never had this much space in a pool before and even then it’s way too big for a full group of four.

  A perimeter of eucalyptus trees outline the pool and lounge area, with a wooden fence behind them to separate the backyard from the rest of the land. Christmas lights are threaded through the tree branches, but left off in the day—perhaps the decorations are the doing of Thalia.

  This is a mini paradise for anyone, not just an artist.

  I leave a glass of water nearby and sip from it whenever I want, never needing to worry about anyone kicking it over or telling me off for leaving it there. There’s a niche comfort in that thought.

  After a few laps of the pool, I float on my back like a starfish. The sun is too bright to keep my eyes open so I only peek out every so often to keep note of my surroundings. My limbs release tension as if the water is flowing through me. May the water take with it my worries, I think to myself like a mantra.

  I’m not sure how much time has passed when I hear splashing from the other end of the pool. The splashing gets closer and I open my eyes to Inari standing over me with a skewer of watermelon and mango chunks. I dip under water to get back on my feet before emerging and excitedly grabbing the skewer in two hands.

  “Having fun there?” they ask with a prideful glint in their eyes.

  I nod in quick succession and answer in between bites. “This pool is incredible. I never imagined being in a pool without, you know, the general public.”

  They smile in response and leave their finished skewer at the edge of the pool before they hold both arms out and fall backwards into a float. They sigh as the water embraces them.

  The last time I saw Inari in a pool was at our year twelve swimming carnival. Every year, Inari would sit at the edge and dip their feet, but not get in. I’d always try to splash them, maybe to make an excuse for them to get in. They’d yell at me for that, and also if I started swimming away when they wanted me to stay and chat.

  So it’s a little strange to see them enjoying the water to its fullest right now, even if it doesn’t look like it to anyone else. Inari is like a screensaver logo bouncing from side to side, just missing the corners, so you have to keep watching.

  I’ve known them for so long yet I realise there’s a lot I would’ve missed in these last few years. Did Inari learn how to swim? What has changed about their interests? What qualities does Inari look for in friends now, that they didn’t before? How many stories has Inari written in this time? Does Inari have a partner now?

  Oh, but that wasn’t my business.

  “What are you thinking?” they ask from the other side of the pool. They’re looking straight up with their eyes closed so I can safely hide my surprise of their unexpected question behind my hands.

  “Nothing—” And before they can say anything else, I take a dive under the water.

  I mean, it had to be normal to wonder if my old friend had a partner, right? It would be nice, even, if they did. The guilt of rejecting them was far hidden in my mind but came out hard and fast on lonely days at uni. It was hard to make friends, and it would've been nice to have Inari there. If only I didn’t mess things up. I didn’t blame them for leaving when I treated their feelings so flippantly.

  I come back up for a deep breath of air and Inari standing there with their arms crossed over their chest. Could they read my mind or something?

  “Yes…?” I crouch down until the water is up to my mouth and I can blow bubbles on the water’s surface with a breath.

  Their brow twitches up. “We’re doing a shoot, aren’t we? Let me know what you want me to do.”

  “Oh!” Right! We were here for work too, not just fun. “Thank you so much for volunteering to do this.” Being a model at a moment’s notice was a difficult task.

  They shrug and give me a smile. “Consider it a slightly early Christmas present.”

  I swim to the pool’s edge closest to the back door and find my camera in its bag next to a spare towel and a clear, plastic box with no lid. I dry my hands thoroughly before cautiously unzipping the camera bag and taking the camera out. “Well… I don’t wanna get out of the water just yet, so we’ll use the box first.” At the shallow end, I can keep my camera around my neck and if I want underwater photos, using the box at the deep end is the way to go.

  “Is what I’m wearing okay?” They look down at their swimming binder and shorts, pinching at each of them.

  I already know the answer is yes because a photo shoot like this is more about silhouette than the details of the person’s outfit, but I still take that moment to look them up and down. That tank-top style binder hugs their form tenderly and nicely emphasises their arms and freckled shoulders. The hem of the binder doesn’t quite reach down to the waistband of their swimming shorts, allowing a sliver of their skin to show.

  “Perrin?”

  My breath hitches as I look up. I didn’t mean to stare— I only just realised that I’d never seen Inari dress like this before. They were always either in uniform or, on rare out-of-school occasions, in baggy clothing that buried them.

  They turn away and lower their hands to their side. “It’s fine, right?”

  “Yep— yes, all fine!” I squeak and then tuck one side of the open box under my arm as I switch the camera on. It chimes and the lens extends out.

  It’s strange to take pictures when the studio is a pool of water and I’m using the box method. The box has more freedom to be in the water, and allows a pocket of air to place my camera within. The bad part is that I can’t see the picture I’m taking by eye until it’s already taken. I just have to trust my intentional yet untested placement and hope I don’t shake the box too much as I hold it up.

  I instruct Inari to take a dip under the water, to do their best to reach towards the tiled floor with a hand and their head leading their body, as if they have just taken a dive, without the work of completing a dive.

  At first they’re a little clumsy, flailing under the water as their body resists the downwards movement. We laugh and I give them a little advice based on what I noticed, and then get serious. Inari practises a few more times and I take pictures for every attempt, just in case one comes out nicely.

  The determination on their features to get this right for me warms my chest and I follow their movements with my eyes, whispering encouraging words despite their lack of modelling experience, let alone water modelling experience.

  We explore a few more ideas while I can be bothered to carry the plastic box around. A half in-water, half above-water composition as Inari floats on their back, one as Inari treads through the water in an imitation of walking on land—for something a bit more “surreal”, another as Inari holds their arms out like they’re spreading wings, the image taken from angles side-on, behind, and in front. We do one where they’re crouched in the water but the camera only sees their upper body. The water is far enough up that they can tilt their head forward and have their cheek touch the water. It reminds me of the painting ‘The Fatigue’ by Mihail Zablodski.