The next few days blurred into a familiar cycle of forced college lectures and the quiet hum of disappointment. Elara still went through the motions, taking notes she barely absorbed, participating in group discussions with half-hearted answers. Her parents' words echoed in her mind – practical, stable, future. But Kael's words resonated deeper: What truly sets your spirit alight? The world needs to see all forms of beauty.
That phrase, "all forms of beauty," kept replaying. It wasn't just about height anymore, but about a broader acceptance, a defiant belief in her own vision. The scent of that inexplicable damp earth in her room, a phantom whisper of Kael's forest, seemed to linger. It was a subtle, almost imperceptible encouragement.
Driven by this newfound, fragile determination, Elara spent her evenings online, not just scrolling, but searching. She wasn't looking for major agencies – she knew those gates were closed to her for now. Instead, she hunted for smaller, independent designers, local fashion schools, student projects, anyone who might be open to unconventional models. She found a few promising leads, but one in particular caught her eye: a local art college was holding an open call for student fashion projects. They specifically mentioned looking for "diverse and expressive faces," not just typical model measurements. It wasn't a modeling agency, not even a paying gig, but it was a chance. An audition of sorts, but a different kind.
Her heart pounded just thinking about it. An art college meant creativity, maybe less judgment. But it also meant stepping out, exposing herself to more stares, more potential rejection. The old Elara would have closed the tab, convinced herself it was pointless. But the new Elara, the one Kael was helping to build, lingered. She filled out the online form, attaching a few of her best self-portraits – photos where she'd truly tried to capture her artistic side, not just pose. She didn't expect a reply.
To her surprise, a few days later, an email popped into her inbox. It was from the art college. They wanted her to come in for an informal meeting and to see her in person. "We were particularly intrigued by the unique angles and emotional depth in your submissions," the email read. Elara reread that line a dozen times. Unique angles. Emotional depth. Not 'tall' or 'leggy.' It was a small spark, but it was a real one.
She immediately messaged Kael.
Elara_Dreams: Kael! You won't believe it! The art college emailed me back! They want to see me!
The reply came almost instantly.
Kael_Writes: See? The threads are weaving. I told you opportunity often wears disguise. This is a step, Elara. A brave step. What are you going to do?
Elara_Dreams: I... I think I'm going to go. It's on Friday. But I'm so nervous. What if it's a mistake? What if they just look at me and laugh?
Kael_Writes: They won't. And if they do, their laughter is only a sign of their own smallness, not yours. You have a fire, Elara, a unique spark. Let it flicker for them. And remember, luck favors the bold. Look for the little whispers around you. They'll guide you.
"Whispers." Elara traced the word on her screen. She closed her eyes, imagining that cool, earthy scent again. She felt a surge of resolve. She would go.
Friday arrived like a distant storm. Elara woke up with a knot in her stomach. She dressed carefully, choosing a simple dark skirt and a fitted top that she hoped made her look a little taller, a little more confident. She spent extra time on her makeup, trying to make her eyes look expressive, awake.
The art college building was old, with ivy clinging to the brick walls and splashes of paint on the concrete paths. It felt vibrant, alive, completely different from her own sterile college campus. Students walked around with colorful hair, paint-stained clothes, and an air of creative freedom that made Elara feel both excited and terribly out of place.
She found the reception desk, a nervous tremor in her voice as she gave her name. The receptionist, a young woman with bright blue hair, smiled warmly. "Ah, Elara! They're just finishing up a session. Take a seat. Someone will be with you shortly."
Elara sat on a worn, velvet couch in the waiting area. Art filled the walls – strange sculptures, vivid paintings, abstract photos. It was overwhelming, but in a good way. She watched students walk by, some carrying huge canvases, others sketching intently in notebooks. They seemed so comfortable in their own skin, so free. She felt her shyness try to pull her back into herself, to make her disappear.
She instinctively reached for her phone, wanting to message Kael, just for a moment of his calm presence. But just as her fingers touched the screen, a small, curious beetle, iridescent green, crawled slowly across the back of her hand. It moved with a slow, deliberate pace, its tiny legs tickling her skin. Elara watched it, mesmerized. It wasn't a leaf, but it was something alive, green, and completely unexpected. Another "whisper"?
A voice startled her. "Elara Singh?"
She looked up. A tall, elegant woman with kind eyes and a splash of paint on her cheek stood before her. She had a warm, open smile. "I'm Professor Anya Sharma. Thank you for coming in."
Professor Sharma led her down a hallway filled with even more art. They entered a large, airy studio space. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating easels, clay sculptures, and mannequins draped in fabric. Several students were busy at work, their faces serious and focused.
"So, Elara," Professor Sharma began, her voice soft but direct, "your photos were very interesting. You have a unique presence. Tell me, what draws you to modeling?"
Elara's throat tightened. This was it. The moment she had to speak, to explain herself. She felt her usual shyness welling up, threatening to choke her words. She thought of the green beetle on her hand, Kael's words: Let your fire flicker. The world sees what you let it see.
Taking a deep breath, Elara spoke, her voice surprisingly steady. "I... I know I'm not the usual height," she began, deciding to face it head-on. "But I feel like I have something to express. It's not just about looking pretty. It's about telling a story with my body, with my face. I believe beauty comes in so many forms, and... and I want to be part of showing that."
Professor Sharma listened, her gaze steady, observing. She didn't interrupt. When Elara finished, there was a quiet moment.
"That's a powerful answer, Elara," Professor Sharma finally said, a thoughtful look on her face. "And I agree. We're looking for individuals who can truly embody a concept, not just fill a dress. We have a few projects coming up – some avant-garde, some more conceptual. They require models with strong emotional connection and presence. Not just a frame."
She paused, then smiled. "We'd like you to participate in a few test shoots with some of our photography students next week. No pressure, just a chance for us to see how you move and interact with the camera in a live setting. And for you to see if our environment is a good fit."
Elara felt a wave of relief so strong it almost made her dizzy. Test shoots? It wasn't a definite contract, but it was a foot in the door. A chance. An actual chance.
"Yes! Yes, I'd love to!" she said, a genuine excitement bubbling up.
As Professor Sharma walked her out, Elara saw the same blue-haired receptionist from earlier. She gave Elara a bright, encouraging wink. Outside, the sun felt warmer, the air fresher. The old art college building, once intimidating, now seemed to hum with possibility. Elara pulled out her phone, fingers flying.
Elara_Dreams: Kael! You were right! About the luck! And the disguise! I got a test shoot! It was a beetle this time, a green one, on my hand! Thank you!
She knew it sounded crazy, linking a beetle to a test shoot, but to her, in that moment, it felt undeniably connected. Invisible threads, indeed.