M.

You adjusted your grip, the camcorder wobbling before you steadied it, finally pointing the lens toward the bleach-blonde girl standing a few feet away.

"Y/n," she laughed, tucking a strand of curly hair behind her ear. "Why do you record on that thing?" She pointed at the camera, the corners of her mouth lifting into a smirk.

That smirk alone sent a jolt through your body. You'd spent years trying to recreate it on paper.

Graphite never quite caught the way one side lifted higher than the other. Paint seemed to smudge her features together. But film was the closest. Film was the only thing that understood how she moved between expressions…how you saw her.

You lowered the camera for a second.

"I dunno, it looks prettier." You shrugged carelessly.

Daniela rolled her eyes. "You're such a dork."

"Yeah, well, you keep me around."

"And you've been keeping that thing around all year." Daniela stepped closer, watching as you turned off the recording for once.

"And?"

"And I swear you've recorded everything every single day."

You smiled bashfully. "Not everything."

A playful frown coats her face. "Yeah? What haven't you recorded, Spielberg?"

You lifted the camera again, centering her in the frame. "Many things, Avanzini."

She laughed, the sound carrying into the autumn ambiance.

You spent the rest of the day wandering around town with no real destination. You filmed Daniela racing fallen leaves down the gutter after a breeze swept through the street. You filmed her trying to balance on the curb, arms stretched out like a tightrope walker before she inevitably fell into you, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

Her grip was firm on your shoulders as she tumbled, hair covering her face.

“Dani, stop! Your parents are gonna kill me if you fall!” She turned in your arms, facing you barely three inches apart.

“Please, they love you too much.” She gently shoved you.

Then, you filmed her stealing fries from your tray at the diner even though she'd insisted she wasn't hungry.

Now she sat across from you, chin resting on folded arms as she stared shamelessly at the half-eaten burger on your plate.

You turned the camera toward her. "So, Ms. Avanzini." Your voice dropped into an exaggerated announcer's cadence. "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

She squinted at the lens. “Are you interviewing me?”

"Shut up! I ask the questions."

She fought back a smile before playing along. "Hmm..."

She leaned back in the booth, pretending to think. "Well...you know that dance video you filmed for me?"

You nodded. It had taken twenty-three takes before she was happy with it. She's always been a perfectionist, you never minded.

"I finally sent it in."

"Sure.." You smirked, eyes peering over the camcorder.

"No, like..." Her grin widened. "I actually sent it." Your heart skipped a beat as you lowered the camera just enough to fully look at her over the viewfinder, a shocked look painting all over your face.

"You think you'll get in?"

"I hope so." She smiled, and this time it wasn't playful. It was hopeful. "Imagine it. Los Angeles, five years from now."

She said it like it was a place and time she'd already been in and she simply reflected on that past. "Me in some girl group, on tours, making music. Performing at like…" She tilted her head to the side. "Coachella?"

“Ooh.” The camcorder whirred softly between you. “That's ambitious, Ms. Avanzini..”

She shrugged, picking at a fry on your tray. "So?"

"So?"

"So what if it is?" She popped the fry into her mouth after dipping it in the ketchup. "The worst they can do is say no."

You smiled behind the viewfinder. "Well…what if they don't?"

Her eyes lit up at that. "If they don't..." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Then I'm gone."

"Gone gone?"

"To L.A."

She said it so matter-of-factly that it almost sounded inevitable. "I'll probably live with like...five roommates." She laughed. "Eat instant ramen every night. Share one bathroom with hella people."

"Yeah but…I think you'd survive."

"Sure."

"And then?" You nudged on, zooming in on her freckles.

"And then..." She looked up toward the diner's ceiling as if she could already see it unfolding. "I'll debut."

"You say that like it's a guarantee."

"It has to be."

She smiled to herself. "I don't know...I just feel like I'm supposed to do this."

"And you'll capture all of it," she said suddenly.

"Hm?"

"My debut. My first concert. My first award." She pointed at the camcorder. "You'll be there with that stupid thing."

You chuckled. "Well, someone's gotta make your documentary."

"There you go."

She reached across the table and nudged your wrist, accidentally knocking the camera slightly off-center.

“Gimme the camera!” Daniela snorted, waved you to pass the recorder. You hesitated before carefully placing it into her hands.

She zoomed out, capturing you as you sat stiff in the diner’s booth. The overhead lights dim across your features while you anxiously fixed yourself for the camera.

"So..." she asked. "Where do you see yourself in five years, Spielberg?"

The question lingered longer than you'd expected.

‘Wherever you are’ Is what you wanted to say. You bite your bottom lip to prevent the words from overflowing.

"I don't know," you admitted quietly.

Daniela frowned. You weren’t sure if she was concerned or just shocked, "Seriously?"

She zoomed in, catching your bust in the frame. "I just...well—you know."

"...I just know I want to make things."

[Things that remind me of you.]

Daniela didn't answer right away. Instead, she kept the camera trained on you. The red light blinked in the reflection of your eyes. "What kind of things?" she asked.

You scratched the back of your neck, suddenly aware of how strange you must've looked on the other side of the lens. "I don't know." You laughed under your breath. "Movies, maybe. Paintings. Music videos." You shrugged. "Whatever lets me make people feel something."

She was quiet. "That's vague."

You glanced up, awkwardly shrugging your shoulder. "I guess."

"Well." She smiled softly, lowering the camera just enough for one of her eyes to peek over it. "I don't mean that in a bad way."

The diner's fluorescent lights hummed overhead. "I mean..." She searched for the right words, staring up at the ceiling. "You can always make people feel something, be specific."

You blinked. "Ok…uhh…vulnerable.”

That landed better than you expected. You watched as Daniela's expression changed immediately, the teasing fading from her face.

“Vulnerable?” she repeated.

You nodded once, eyes dropping to the scratched tabletop. “Yeah. I think people spend most of their lives pretending they’re feeling something extreme. I like the moments when they're not, you know?”

The camcorder remained pointed at you, steady in her hands. “You notice weird stuff,” she said quietly.

You huffed a laugh. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean it.” She leaned back in the booth. “Most people would film someone dancing or saying something cool. You always film the in-between parts.”

“The in-between parts are the interesting parts.”

She studied you for a second, then smiled like she’d solved a puzzle. “That’s what your movies are gonna be about.”

“My hypothetical movies?”

“Your future Oscar-winning movies,” she corrected. “The ones where everyone leaves the theater crying and applauding.”

You groaned. “Ugh-Please don’t manifest that for me.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely manifesting it.” She lifted the camera higher. “Interview follow-up question, Spielberg: who’s starring in these devastating little movies?”

You looked straight into the lens before you could stop yourself.

“You are.”