The Gilded Veil
A white room. Ring lights like alien suns. A creative director—thin, pale, name like Kai —flips through a mood board.
Rahi walks through the city as it wakes. No music swell. No dramatic slo-mo. Just the sound of her sandals on wet pavement.
A little girl, maybe seven, stares at her from a bus stop. The girl has the same wide-set eyes. The same deep brown. She’s frowning at her own reflection in a phone screen.