At this moment, through the photo paper, through the camera lens, she could almost sense her own eyelashes slightly trembling at that time, and the gentle breath she emitted in the silence.
She was dumbfounded; it was the first time she looked at her sleeping face from such an objective perspective.
She thought she never expected herself to be... beautiful like this.
Even rarer, was this kind of tranquility, this kind of softness, this kind of sweetness.
Her heart began to pound intensely, to a degree that felt unfamiliar to her.
Driven by some force, she grasped the stack of photographs, pulling the first one aside eagerly to look at the second.
This one... made her somewhat embarrassed.
Still her sleeping face, but her clothes were undone.
The white shirt cast a pearly glow like a shell in the dark night and distant lights.
Vaguely visible, her cheeks in the photo had a kind of unconscious blush. And her lips—without lipstick, the remaining traces slightly disordered.
