Only My Mia Cara

It had been a few days since that conversation with Gege, and somehow, something between us had shifted—like an invisible wall had finally crumbled. We began to understand each other more, speak more, share more. The day I confessed everything in his car, how deeply I loved Dante, how I had once promised him, with the innocence of childhood and the certainty of forever, that I would marry him… I expected mockery, or at least a confused silence. But instead, Gege surprised me. He didn't laugh. He didn't question the sincerity of a girl who had held onto a memory like it was a living, breathing part of her soul. He simply said, "Then you need to find him, Xinyi. If you still love him, don't let him go."

But how?

I had scrolled endlessly through Instagram, Twitter, every platform I could think of. I typed his name—Dante—in every way possible. But the faces that stared back weren't his. I didn't know what he looked like anymore. Would I even recognize him if I saw him? Would he recognize me? The ache that lived quietly in my chest every day grew heavier with those questions.

I was lost in these thoughts, my fingers delicately adjusting the lens of the school's studio camera, trying to capture the softened shadows of the statue that stood frozen before me—like I was. Still. Waiting. But unlike me, the statue had no memories. No ghosts.

The studio was quiet, echoing with the absence of my classmates, who were probably taking a break somewhere. But I wasn't alone.

He was there.

Kai, Xuezhang.(Xuezhang used for senior male.)

My senior. Da Er(second year student). Tall, composed, with that sharp jawline and unreadable eyes that made half the girls in my class go breathless. Everyone admired him—from his precise posture to his clean, confident voice. He was strict, but never cruel. Distant, but oddly kind. There was something about him that made everyone stand straighter in his presence.

He walked toward me slowly, his steps unhurried, his gaze fixed not on the statue but on me.

"You're distracted," he said, his voice smooth but firm, just as expected from someone who had mastered every angle of this art. "Your hands are on the camera, but your mind is somewhere else."

I blinked, my fingers stilling on the shutter. Heat crept into my cheeks.

"I… I thought the camera was focusing fine."

He held out a hand, not waiting for my response, and I instinctively stepped aside. He leaned forward, adjusted the tripod slightly, turned the lens once—and in the blink of an eye, the frame sharpened, cleaner than anything I had seen.

Shàngdì(god)… I breathed silently. How could he do that in just two seconds?

He stepped back and gestured toward the camera. "Try to focus better next time, Xuémèi(Jr first year student)." His words weren't harsh—just true. Maybe too true.

I nodded quietly, pressing my lips together as I stood beside him, feeling a soft weight of embarrassment settle over me like fog. But even as I tried to push Dante's memory to the back of my mind, it clung to me stubbornly—his voice, his laugh, that rooftop birthday…

No matter how beautiful or composed Kai was, he wasn't Dante.

No one could ever be.

I tried. I truly did.

With trembling fingers that held the camera like it was the last thread keeping me steady, I shifted angles, stepped left, crouched lower, captured one frame after another, praying—hoping—that at least one would satisfy his unyielding standards. I told myself to focus. Not on Dante. Not on my gege's words. Not on the ache in my chest that whispered of years lost and promises half-kept. But on the statue, the light, the frame.

And yet, every time I looked up at Kai, his expression was the same—unreadable, bored, sharp like winter.

I finally approached him again, this time with a collection of shots I thought were decent, if not good. I handed him the tablet, and he began to scroll, his thumb moving like a blade over each image. A frown settled on his face, and his lips pressed into a line.

"This angle," he said, holding the screen toward me, "shouldn't be so upright. It makes the subject look stiff. Go lower—just slightly. Capture some of the floor, give it breath. Let it exist in its space."

I nodded quickly, lips parting to say something—anything—but he was already handing the tablet back, his attention flicking elsewhere like I was just another first-year fumbling her way through.

I returned to the camera, adjusting it again, kneeling this time to change the perspective. I took the shot. And again. And again. Sweat dampened my temples. I bit my lower lip as I worked in silence, too focused to remember how many attempts I had made. When I felt I had something worth showing, I stood, brushed invisible dust from my skirt, and walked back to him.

Again, he looked.

Again, he sighed.

"You keep hurrying at the end," he said, without even turning the screen toward me this time. "That final second—when you take the shot—you lose the moment. You're rushing like you're trying to finish instead of trying to feel."

I blinked, feeling the sting of those words hit deeper than I thought they would. Not because he was wrong. But because… he was so right, in ways even he didn't know.

I was rushing. Not just the photograph. Life. Everything. As if the faster I went, the sooner I'd escape this constant ache, this ache called Dante. As if snapping the shutter quicker would help me outrun the memories that clung to every thought. The ones that whispered:

"Will you ever see him again?"

Kai looked at me, finally, for more than a glance. His gaze softened—not warm, but less cutting than before.

"You can't create art if your heart is somewhere else."

My breath caught. My hands tightened slightly around the edge of the tablet.

I forced a small nod. "I'll try again."

He didn't say good. He simply stepped aside, giving me space, his silence echoing just enough to make my thoughts louder.

I turned back to the camera. I placed my fingers over the button again.

And I whispered to myself, "If I can't find him yet... at least let me do this right."

After what felt like an eternity—an endless torment of retakes, corrections, and his ever-unbothered critique—the session was finally over. I could've sworn my body was drenched in more sweat than my own effort could justify. Every inch of me ached, not from the physical strain, but from the pressure, the unrelenting weight of trying to be enough—both as a student, and as someone quietly breaking inside.

Kai shut his notebook with his usual calm, his voice echoing through the now-emptied studio."Well… we'll continue tomorrow."

Just like that, he left—graceful and cold, like he always does. Not sparing a glance, not a single word of encouragement. The door clicked shut behind him and I finally let out a sigh I'd been holding in for hours.

I grabbed a tissue and dabbed the sweat off my temples, letting the silence wrap around me for a second longer before I picked up my bag and stepped out of the studio, into the hallway, where the air was fresher and smelled faintly of brewed coffee and new books.

I inhaled deeply.

"Finally…" I whispered to myself, dragging my legs forward. "I was dying in there."

Zhejiang University was as pristine as it was vast—bright, polished corridors, glass walls that welcomed sunlight, green patches of life here and there. Students moved in clusters, their laughter bouncing against the walls, some heading toward the campus café where the hum of low conversations and clinking cups floated through the air like background music.

I was busy wiping the last traces of exhaustion from my skin, dragging the cloth across my neck as I rounded the corner—and that's when it happened.

I bumped into someone. Hard.

Startled, I took a step back and bowed slightly out of habit.

"Bàoqiàn, bàoqiàn!" I apologized quickly, the words stumbling out before I even looked up.

And then I did.

And the world tilted.

My gaze locked with his—and something in me froze, everything else fading. My breath caught in my throat as my heart, without permission, stuttered violently like it recognized something my brain hadn't caught up to yet.

I didn't say anything and suddenly he said my name.

"Danna?"