The floor creaked as slow steps approached. Seol-ah held her breath and tensed her body. The dark room felt thick and damp with a mix of chemical smells and fear.
Eli's hand touched her wrist, soothing her. A bit of light filtered in, revealing his face—sharp, alert, ready.
The steps stopped.
Then came a sound: a soft click of a camera. Click.
Seol-ah jumped. Her camera, she still had it. She gripped it tightly.
Eli said, "Stay here," and opened the darkroom door slightly to step out.
Seol-ah waited. One breath. Two. The silence felt oppressive. Ignoring Eli's command, she opened the door wider and stepped out.
The studio was dark, with just one light swinging slightly as if disturbed. Eli stood near the center, staring at the tall man in the large hat.
The man held an old, well-used Polaroid camera. His head tilted slightly, revealing his sharp jaw—handsome, but unfamiliar to her.
"You shouldn't be here," Eli said, his tone gentle yet firm.
The man didn't respond, but he raised his camera toward Seol-ah. "Smile," he said, his voice deep and kind, yet cold.
The flash went off, bright and sudden.
Seol-ah stepped back, lifting her camera and snapping a photo—click. Through her lens, she saw motion: just a dark shape formed by Eli's tense expression, a ghostly figure.
The Polaroid slipped from the man's camera with a quiet whirr.
Eli rushed forward to close the distance, but the man was faster. He vanished into the shadows, his bootsteps heading toward the back door.
By the time Eli reached that door, the man was gone.
Seol-ah knelt down, trembling as she picked up the new Polaroid the man had left behind.
Her own face looked back at her, though it wasn't from tonight. She wore different clothes, standing on a rooftop under a clear blue sky. Eli was there too, his hand on hers, both of them smiling at something outside the frame.
Written below in light pencil were the words:
Do you see the truth yet?