?

  Inside the soft-lit conference room of the University Communications Office, a mild drizzle tapped against the tall windows, casting a faint silver sheen over the long table where the weekly campaign meeting was in progress.

  Ms. Collins, the ever-composed head of communications, sat at the head of the table, her fingers steepled just beneath her chin. Across from her was Mr. Taylor, the photography lead with his signature black turtleneck and glasses perpetually pushed up his nose. Next to him, Professor Ikeda, the distinguished academic advisor of the honors program, sipped thoughtfully from a cup of green tea, his calm demeanor concealing a sharp, strategic mind.

  “We need names for this year’s student feature,” Ms. Collins began, her tone measured but expectant. “Someone who represents the best of what this university stands for, academic excellence, global engagement, potential.”

  Mr. Taylor smirked. “Well, if we’re talking about ‘the best,’ it’s hard not to mention Adrian Vale.”

  Professor Ikeda nodded slowly, setting down his cup. “Undeniably. At eighteen, he’s already a consultant for the UN, multiple publications, groundbreaking patents in synthetic biology… The world knows who he is. But he’s never shown interest in media. He turns down almost everything.”

  “That’s true,” Ms. Collins admitted, leaning back in her chair. “Still, he was surprisingly public during the Global Tech Ethics debate last week. And he wasn’t alone.”

  Mr. Taylor’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Right, he was paired with Mira Larkspur. She’s the full scholarship student from the International Relations program. They went head-to-head, then somehow managed to combine their arguments into a single framework. It caused quite a stir on campus.”

  Professor Ikeda allowed a small smile. “She’s bright. And really helpful.”

  "They'd make a strong visual pair," Mr. Taylor acknowledged, admiring the natural contrast. "Smart, young, serious. The prodigy and the rising diplomat."

  Ms. Collins tapped her pen against the table, once, twice, as if weighing the idea. “I like it. Two scholarship students from completely different worlds. A balance of science and humanity.”

  Mr. Taylor hesitated. “Assuming Adrian agrees. That’s still a very big ‘if’.”

  Ms. Collins allowed herself a faint, knowing smile as she glanced briefly out the window. “Maybe. But people shift when you least expect it. And from what I saw during that debate, there was something... intriguing. The kind of chemistry you can’t fabricate.”

  Where Professor Ikeda remained impassive, Mr. Taylor failed to suppress his mirth, biting the inside of his cheek.

  Collins capped her pen. “Let’s send the invitation. One for each. If Adrian refuses, we move forward with another candidate. But if he accepts, well, that’ll be a cover worth printing.”

  The decision was made, and as the rain traced slow lines down the glass, the future of the university’s next magazine feature began to unfold.

  ?

  One day later. In the soft buzz of the university’s PR office, Ms. Collins adjusted her glasses and stared at the screen.

  “Well,” she said slowly, tapping her nails against her mug, “he replied.”

  That got heads to turn.

  “Vale?” one of the junior staffers blinked, abandoning his editing screen. “You’re kidding.”

  She didn’t answer immediately, just scrolled down. Then she read aloud, half to herself:

  “Accepted. On conditions.”

  She exhaled a short breath and gave a small, crooked smile. “Of course.”

  From her screen, she rattled off the details, laughter edging into her words.

  “All interview questions must be submitted in advance. No impromptu changes. Every piece of content, photo or quote, has to be reviewed and signed off by him before publication. And…”

  She clicked open an attachment, “he’s requesting a written clarification of the entire campaign purpose and how his image and words will be used.”

  A pause.

  Someone let out a low whistle. “That’s... very Vale of him.”

  “It's thorough,” Ms. Collins said, but there was no annoyance in her tone, if anything, a touch of admiration. “He’s not doing this for the university. He’s doing it on his terms.”

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  Another voice chimed in, “But he’s in.”

  “Yes,” she said, finally leaning back. “He’s in.”

  And that, in itself, was the win.

  A staff member asked, “And what about Mira?”

  Ms. Collins looked up from the screen, a smile already forming. “Mira? Oh, she replied too.” She took a sip of her coffee before adding, “She had a brief chat with Ikeda, just to be sure. But yes, she agreed. No conditions. No fuss.”

  The words came wrapped in a small laugh. "Classic Mira."

  “Exactly,” Collins said with a light laugh. “Bright, helpful, always ready to represent the school in the best light. She even said she hoped it might inspire more students to step up.” She looked fondly at the monitor. “What a cute and reliable girl.”

  There was a short silence as they all took that in, Adrian Vale, meticulous and distant, saying yes with terms attached like it was a business deal; Mira Larkspur, open and sincere, trusting the process and stepping forward with pride.

  “Well,” someone finally said, “this campaign’s going to be interesting.”

  Collins nodded. “Very.”

  ?

  Mira was halfway through reviewing her lecture notes in the common room when Camille swept in, the door clicking shut behind her with a little too much enthusiasm, still wearing her PR department volunteer lanyard, and her hands were full , tablet tucked under one arm, a planner in the other.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Camille said, without greeting, her voice low but unmistakably thrilled.

  Mira blinked. “Tell you what?”

  Camille stepped closer, half-whispering but unable to hide the gleam in her eyes. “The magazine cover. You. Adrian Vale. The photoshoot. I just came from the PR office. It’s all confirmed.”

  Mira set her pen down and leaned back slightly. “Oh. That.”

  “Oh that?” Camille gave her a look. “Mira Larkspur, you’re about to be the face of the university and you’re sitting here acting like you just got assigned to collect lab samples.”

  Mira smiled, a little sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure if it was official. And I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

  Camille shook her head and sat beside her, her tone turning sincere. “You don’t need to downplay it. It is a big deal. This university only features students like this a few times a year , and they chose you. Not just because of your scholarship or grades. Because you represent what they want the world to see.”

  Mira hesitated for a moment, then said, “I just had a debate with Adrian last week. And now this... I didn’t want people to start assuming anything.”

  “Let them assume,” Camille said, waving a hand dismissively. “You didn’t get this because of him. You both just happen to be outstanding, and honestly, the school’s smart to put you together. It’s iconic.”

  “Camille…”

  Camille's laughter faded into sudden seriousness. “Alright, fine, I’ll behave. But listen , you’ve got to think carefully about how you show up. The magazine’s team may not give you strict guidelines, but you don’t want to underdo it either.”

  “I was going to wear something simple. Maybe a clean blouse. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

  Camille nearly groaned. “Mira. No. This isn’t just a casual group shot. This is the university magazine. Top-tier lighting, a professional photographer flown in, and your face going into circulation across embassies, partner schools, international events. This isn’t the time to fade into the wallpaper.”

  Mira laughed. “You make it sound like I’m attending the Met Gala.”

  “Well, not quite. But trust me , you want to look composed. Sharp. Elevated. It’s not about fashion; it’s about image. A neat silhouette, natural tones, something that says: ‘Yes, I belong here, and yes, I know it.’”

  She paused, then added gently, “Don’t take it for granted, sweetheart. You earned this, and people will remember that cover.”

  Mira gave a smile, touched by Camille’s sincerity. “Alright. I’ll let you help me pick something. Just no sequins.”

  Camille beamed. “Deal. But I’m banning beige.”

  ?

  Two days later, Mira found herself trailing behind Camille through the soft-lit aisles of a boutique just off campus.

  The little bell above the boutique door chimed as Camille pushed it open and beckoned Mira inside with the flourish of someone entering a stage set.

  “Alright, Miss Magazine Star, today’s mission: make the camera fall in love with you,” Camille declared.

  Mira laughed as she followed her in, eyeing the softly lit rows of clothes. “You say that like I’m going to war.”

  “Same energy, babe. Different weapons,” Camille said breezily, weaving between racks like it was second nature.

  Mira trailed behind, fingers brushing over hangers. “You know, I was just going to wear what I wore at the opening ceremony. I thought that was pretty decent.”

  Camille gasped like she’d been betrayed. “You are not wearing recycled glory for your first magazine feature! This is the first time they’re printing your face next to Adrian Vale, for crying out loud.”

  “So I’m supposed to match his cheekbones now?”

  “No, you’re supposed to outshine them,” Camille replied with zero hesitation, pulling out a crisp ivory blouse. “This with a navy blazer? You’ll look like the intelligent, capable, future-of-the-world scholar that you are , but make it photogenic.”

  Mira took the blouse with a suprise. “Wow. That’s a lot of pressure for a shirt.”

  “It’s not pressure. It’s presence.” Camille handed her a blazer. “Now go. Fitting room. Shoo.”

  Inside the small fitting room, Mira changed and took a quick glimpse at herself. The look was clean, structured , very ‘representative student material’ , but not stiff. She stepped out and gave a half-turn.

  “Well?” she asked.

  Camille blinked, then nodded like a proud stylist. “Okay yes, see? This is it. This says: ‘I got a full ride here, and also, I can lead a UN panel and fix the planet.’”

  Mira laughed, cheeks slightly pink. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “And you’re radiant. Deal with it.”

  Mira turned to the mirror again, tugging at the sleeve thoughtfully. “You really think this isn’t too much?”

  Camille waved her off. “Sweetheart, this is the world-ranking university. You don’t just show up in your Tuesday shirt. This is branding, this is legacy, this is PR. And you’re their face.”

  Mira mock-sighed. “Fine. But you’re paying for the coffee after this.”

  Camille tossed her a pair of matching heels with a satisfied nod. “Done. Now let’s make sure your shoes don’t scream ‘student cafeteria’.”

  ?