When Zarah Maas walked the runway, the world fell apart. Every spotlight turned toward her, attention pulled in her direction as if sucked into a black hole.
Her movements were filled with meaning, certainty. An enigma that invited everyone watching the spectacle to unravel. All the other models were overshadowed by her, her intent made obvious through her performance.
There, the model told a story. The moment she stepped onto the runway was the prologue — the moment she would leave, the epilogue. There was no beyond.
Zarah smiled, illuminating not only the hearts of those watching, but their souls as well.
The audience observed patiently. The silence was deafening, as if Zarah's very presence was a scream directed at the world.
That day, the world fell in love with the Queen once again.
But for me, that was the first time.
Not just with Zarah, but with art.
***
"Dude, did you see how hot she is?" Mike asked excitedly, walking backwards in front of us while gesturing lewdly. "Those boobs… every teenager's dream."
"No, you're the only one who spent the whole show thinking about sex," Jason shot back. He was always the most normal in our group, and the only one who could keep his head straight. I knew I could count on him.
"Come on, don't tell me you didn't check out any of the women the whole show."
When Jason just stayed silent, I turned my head toward him with a betrayed expression.
"Sorry, Noah. I couldn't help it." He shrugged as if it were inevitable.
Even after it ended, I couldn't get that performance out of my head. It was as if Zarah hadn't just left her mark on the stage, but on me as well. I… simply couldn't think of anything sexual enough to match it.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not gay — I'm sure of that. But… What is this confusion?
When a strange idea slipped into my mind, I tried to push it away as quickly as possible, but it rooted itself just as fast as it came.
What if I asked Zarah directly, The Queen, what that was?
No matter how bad the idea seemed, I couldn't do anything but weigh the pros and cons. Even though the cons won, this was my last chance. I didn't know when her next show at this venue would be.
"Hey, you guys go ahead. I'll catch up soon. I… think I recognized someone," I lied. It wasn't the most convincing lie I'd ever told, but I figured it was believable enough.
"I thought we agreed to go back together," Jake, who had been quiet the whole time, stepped in. Why speak now? "Do you know how dangerous that is? We're in the middle of a crowded place. If you disappear, what do you expect us to tell our parents?" "We snuck into a fashion show with tickets from some sketchy site and he got lost"?
"It's not that complicated, relax. I'll meet you in ten minutes, you won't even notice I'm gone. I'll be back before the bus arrives." I didn't give them a chance to respond. I turned and quickly walked toward backstage.
"Be careful, idiot!" Jason shouted. And of course, I ignored him.
Getting backstage didn't take long. The real problem was the number of people on the hollow wooden floor. The curtains were closed, and the place was dimly lit by weak bulbs.
From the outside, I probably looked like a murderer.
Thinking about it, what are the chances I get arrested for this? I mean, I'm a minor… it's not like I'm planning to kill her. I just want to ask a question. A normal question… one any 15-year-old boy would ask. Yeah, that's it.
With my mind now cleared of guilt, I moved through the shadows, behind the large boxes filled with outfits, looks, and all kinds of materials used in tonight's show. Someone seemed to be shouting about another show happening tomorrow afternoon, so everything had to be cleared out now.
Of course, that raised my chances of getting caught.
I sped up, moving with light, nearly silent steps, reaching the back area. In this event, it was obviously used for changing and dressing, but also for removing outfits.
"Damn it, why won't it come off? Veronica! Can you help me?" I heard as I crossed a particular door. Nothing special about it, but the voice caught my attention. "No one? Ha… damn."
"Uh… hello?" I said, my shy tone barely audible.
"Hm… whose voice is that? Who is it?"
There was no escape. In that moment, I realized how stupid this idea was. I wanted to run, to flee without looking back. No one would know I'd been there, and life would go on normally.
But that part of my mind wouldn't let me. That cursed curiosity.
"I'm a… fan. I have a question about… uh, several things. Would you be willing to answer?" I risked it. Put everything on the line in one sentence. Now I just waited.
"A fan? Ha, whatever, could be anyone. You can come in."
Surprised by how easily she allowed it, I slowly opened the door. The fluorescent lights blinded me for a few seconds before my eyes adjusted.
"You're so… young," she said, looking at me as if evaluating me. I stayed still, weakly pushing the door closed behind me.
"I wanted to ask if—"
"No," she interrupted. "First, help me get this damn outfit off."
That's when I realized how trapped she was in it. Her arms twisted so much I thought they'd snap, and even with the air conditioning blasting, she was sweating. She was struggling.
I quickly crossed the room and freed her arms from the tangled clothing, enough for her to handle the rest herself. That's when it hit me. The moment she removed the outfit, she'd be naked.
And I was there.
"If you want me to leave, I can wait and—"
"You're extremely cute, you know that?" she teased when she noticed I was blushing, which only made me blush more.
"And you're embarrassing me. Stop," I said, hiding my face in my hands.
Zarah burst into hysterical laughter as she removed the tight dress, revealing… black clothing underneath. She had another layer beneath it.
"You should've seen your face of disappointment!" she laughed, slapping her thigh. She was practically folding over from laughing.
"I wasn't—"
"Don't lie!" she continued, laughing even harder. "Ha… ha… I can't breathe…"
I stared at her with a forced serious expression. I just wanted to disappear.
"Ha… anyway." She finally calmed down and sat in front of the mirror, grabbing what she'd use to remove her heavy makeup. It looked suffocating. "What did you want to ask?"
Back to the main point, the world seemed to close in around me.
But I forced my voice out. Hoarse and shaky — courtesy of puberty.
"I— I wanted to know what made you become a model? What do you feel when you're on stage?"
"Hold this for me?" She handed me something to tie her hair.
I took it and waited. Watching her through the mirror, our eyes met. And there, I found a vastness of emotions. Not like on stage, but… raw. There were so many that I had to look away.
"When… When I was younger, my mother was a designer. She made all kinds of clothes for me to wear," She shared a piece of herself. "Everything was so… different. The colors, the feeling. Every piece she created carried a story. A thought. An image she wanted to convey and an impression she wanted to leave on everyone who saw it. But she never wore anything she made. It was all for me, she said. It was a dream of my grandmother that she couldn't fulfill."
I stayed silent, looking back into her eyes. Just looking at her made me want to cry.
"No one understood what my mother did, since my grandmother was already gone. They said she was forcing expectations onto me, making me become something I didn't want. Do you think that's true?"
I thought for a moment.
"Maybe. At first, it might have been. But I saw your expression on the runway — that wasn't fake. It wasn't acting. It was… not exactly raw, but real. There was a touch of magic in the melancholy. At least, that's what I felt."
Zarah smiled widely.
"Really? That's what you think?"
"Yes. The honest truth."
"That's good… that's exactly the image I wanted to convey. Emotion. You know, my dream is to make people feel, through my shows, the same emotion my mother's clothes made me feel. This time, I want to prove those feelings are real. That they can be felt through air, elegance, and art."
"I'd say you succeeded."
"No, not yet. The feeling is still processed. I want it to be as raw as possible. I want people to feel it on their skin. In their bones. To spend weeks thinking about it," As she spoke, the dreamer wasn't there anymore. Her eyes burned with a blazing intensity. Almost magical. "So, answering your second question: what I feel on stage is confidence. Determination. Determination to produce emotion with nothing but movement. No words. No touch. Just… me."
With her shining eyes, she looked at me directly now. When she smiled, I realized I was smiling too. In her eyes, I saw that I had the same ones.
"So…?" She waited.
"Noah."
"Noah," she repeated, as if memorizing it. "So, Noah, since when do you want to become a model?"
"Me? A model?" I asked, confused and embarrassed. I'd been read before I could read myself. "D-do you think I could convey all that emotion? That "raw" feeling?"
"I think you misunderstood something," She continued removing her makeup. "Every artist has their own way of expressing themselves, their own motivation. This "raw" is mine. The real question you should ask is: what is your "raw"?"
"My "raw"?"
"Exactly."
"Do you think I can? Find my own emotion?"
"It'll be difficult. There are many models trying to stand out, to draw attention. But in the end, they become just more of the same. When many people try to be different, different becomes common. Do what you want with that information."
I stayed silent.
Then a faint memory whispered in my mind.
My friends. The time I promised was almost up.
"I think I have to go," I said reluctantly. I had really enjoyed talking to her. "I have friends waiting for me."
"I see…" She looked down, then turned back to me with a bright smile. "Goodbye, Noah."
"Hah… goodbye, Queen," I replied, bowing slightly.
"No, call me Zarah."
"Goodbye, Zarah." Her smile widened, and I found myself returning it.
I turned to leave when I heard her voice again.
"Oh, and Noah, when you're at the top, among the best, know that I'll always be in the audience. Watching you, rooting for you. You can do it, kid."
Her words made my eyes water, and without turning back, I replied:
"And Zarah, you're the reason I decided to become a model. You did succeed."
I didn't let her respond as I left without looking back, but I'm sure I heard a sob.
My friends scolded me the entire way home as I snuck back into my house. I entered my room through the window, making as little noise as possible.
I changed clothes, had dinner with my parents as if nothing had happened.
But Zarah and I knew.
Something had changed that night. My dreams, my goals, my life.
Zarah had changed my life.