6.

"Okay..."

I remember myself replying that way. Anwar just raised an eyebrow, smirked, and turned back to his work.

Since I'd already toasted the bread, I had to stay there and finish eating. The atmosphere was strange, unsettling. We didn't talk anymore. Anwar seemed completely absorbed in his sketching, occasionally reaching for his drink.

He knew I was tense.

When I accidentally dropped a piece of bread and exclaimed, his beautiful eyes flicked up, fixing on me. His expression clearly showed he knew.

"Are you okay?" he asked, smiling when I nodded.

I cursed myself internally, praying I'd stop acting strange around him. I wanted to seem normal, not clumsy and jumpy. It wasn't cool.

"I'm going upstairs," I said softly. When he nodded, I quickly gathered the dishes to wash and ran to my room.

The scent of Anwar's alcohol lingered just under my nose.

For a split second, I wondered what it would be like to be special to a man like that.

How would Kit or Sidney feel?

Would they feel the same pressure from him as I did? Or would they be used to it?

Maybe used to it. They all seemed to be from a completely different world than me. They always seemed stylish and cool.

..

..

"Gia, can you take a picture of me?"

I asked hesitantly. Gia stopped walking and turned to me. "Sure. Where?"

I looked around, pointing vaguely at a silly-looking bench in the park. I didn't even know what P'Phim wanted to see on my Instagram, or what kind of photos people even took.

"Done." Gia handed me back her phone. "Do you want to edit it?"

"How?"

"Like this," she said, quickly pulling out her own phone to show me. All of Gia's photos were brightly edited; compared to mine, they looked dull.

"You're good at posing," I said, partly teasing, partly complimenting. At least Gia looked natural and didn't seem camera-shy like me.

"Want to try? It's not hard. Go stand over there," she quickly found a new angle for me, using her own phone this time. "Sit down, actually."

"Sit…sit?" I sank down as instructed.

"Blue, why are you so tense? Relax," Gia frowned, moving her phone around as if searching for the right angle. The shutter clicked three or four times. I tried to relax as she’d told me to, before I decided to stand up because I couldn’t take it anymore.

"No more. I’m embarrassed," I made a face.

Gia laughed heartily and followed my lead. Afterwards, she bent over, looking at the photos she’d taken, starting to edit them. Once she was finished, she showed them to me, sending them to my phone and instructing me to make one my new profile picture.

No way.

The colors were nice, but I didn’t look good in the picture.

That was my first photo-taking fail.

I stared at Jasper’s phone screen because he was sitting on the floor in front of me. He was scrolling through Instagram, so I could see his photos periodically.

Jasper was cool…but in a nonchalant way.
How can I explain it? A coolness I couldn't grasp. He didn't seem to care how his photos turned out, but overall, it gave him a strangely charming appeal.

And there was a mountain of clips of him skateboarding. When he saw me looking, he proudly showed me dozens more clips. It ended with us exchanging Instagrams for the first time.

"Do you even use this thing?" he grumbled after seeing my Instagram.

"…I’m not very good at taking pictures," I mumbled.

Jasper made a clicking sound with his tongue before showing me Hazel’s Instagram. "Look at this girl. It’s like she carries a personal photographer everywhere, anytime. Even in her
bathrobe, she still takes pictures in the mirror."

All the pictures made my eyes widen. Hazel was already beautiful, with a great figure and tall. Her style and everything else made her huge following unsurprising.

"Beautiful photos," I murmured, taking Jasper’s red phone and scrolling slowly while he turned his attention to the television.

"Yeah, Anwar’s work."

"…"

"Why don’t you ask Anwar to take some pictures? He takes pictures for everyone in this building." I wanted to ask if that included Jasper, but ultimately chose to remain silent. I wrote down Hazel’s account name and looked it up on my own phone.

Jasper didn't post pictures with Anwar, unlike Hazel, whose photos frequently featured his handsome face.

The hundreds of thousands of followers shocked me, but after looking at all the pictures on his Instagram, I thought it was appropriate. His bio didn't say much, just some English words I didn't understand.

Scrolling through, I eventually understood it was a modeling agency name because Anwar posted many photoshoots and tagged those names.

So he's a model…

He studies fashion and models for fashion brands and magazines.

I spent a long time there with Jasper until he stood up, stretching languidly. He ran his hands through his brown hair, ruffling it until it was completely messy.

"I have to go to work."

"Okay," I nodded simply, sinking back into the large sofa without thinking of moving. I’d finished my work; there was nothing left to do.

"Aren’t you going out to play? You’ve only been here a few months."

"I don’t know where to go."

As I finished speaking, someone walked up the stairs.

Jasper turned to look from the refrigerator. Anwar’s tall figure carried a lot of things up, so many that I stood up to help. A light, cool scent of perfume wafted from him; it was his usual scent, and I recognized it.

"Here he is, just in time. Drag Blue out to play, will you? He’s about to wither away. Looks like a wilting mandrake," Jasper quipped before taking a swig of water.

Anwar chuckled softly at that comment. He nodded to me, quickly putting the things away in his bedroom before coming back to take the rest from my hands.

"That withered, huh?" This time he used the slang I taught him, before switching back to English to talk to Jasper about someone I didn’t know.

They talked for four or five sentences before Jasper pushed me towards Anwar.

"Don’t forget to take him out."

"Hmm…" Anwar gave a short reply, and only after Jasper rushed off did he begin to speak.

"Where do you want to go?"

Seeing his modeling photos made the atmosphere even more pressured.

It was like realizing Anwar was truly from a different world than me.

"I don’t know," I shook my head. "It’s okay if you don’t take me anywhere. We can just walk around here."

Anwar raised an eyebrow, clearly having a problem with my answer.

"Try something you want to do. I’ll take you."

I didn’t answer, going back to sit on the sofa as Anwar followed, leaning his arms on the sofa opposite me. He was really well-dressed.

The styles I’d seen from my seniors and friends in my faculty tended to be limited to the usual styles.

But Anwar…he seemed to have a much wider variety of styles, yet no matter what he wore, he always looked cool.

"You dress well," I blurted out what I was thinking.

He immediately glanced at himself—a black shirt under similarly-colored loose jeans and a leather jacket lined with cream-colored fur.

If I, or anyone else, wore that, we'd probably look terrible.

"Maybe it's because I've seen a lot," he chuckled softly, touching the back of his neck. "What about you? Don't you like dressing up?"

"...I want to."

"But?" He added, as if he knew what I was thinking.

"But I don't know how," I concluded to myself that I was so bland, incapable of doing anything well. Even choosing clothes for myself never seemed to work out.

"Don't you have a style you like? A style you see and think is good?"

I shook my head, but after looking at him again, I changed my answer. "Like yours, I guess."

"Want to try dressing like that?"

"How…where?" He smiled slightly, nodding towards the back of me.

"My room."

..

..

I never thought I'd be standing here.

Even though Anwar seems friendly, something about him makes him feel distant. I didn't think I was close enough to him to even step foot in his bedroom.

His bedroom was larger than mine, decorated in shades of gray and black, accented with white and dark blue. There was a bed, a large sofa, a television that dominated almost an entire wall, a computer desk, and a huge work desk in the middle of the room piled high with papers.
A white sewing machine and dress forms stood in a corner. A large sliding wardrobe, and a bookshelf filled with magazines and thick books completed the space.

I touched the edge of a brown cardboard sketch hanging on the wall near the door.

"What kind of style do you like?" he murmured, walking towards the wardrobe. This guy had a bigger wardrobe than my mother.

"Like yours," I repeated my earlier answer.
"Hmm, this style, huh?" He gestured to the outfit he was wearing before sliding open the wardrobe, revealing a meticulously organized array of clothes. "Or maybe..."

Mostly whites, blacks, blues, and cream and brown tones, but other colors were mixed in, though in smaller proportions.

"This?" he asked, his voice rising slightly as he pulled out clothes one by one, holding them up for me to see.

I could imagine Anwar in those clothes, but I couldn't picture myself in any of them.

"I don't know...would they even suit me?"

"How would you know if you don't try? Here, choose something you like from the wardrobe first," Anwar placed the clothes he'd picked on the bed and stepped back to let me take his place.

"Any one?"

"Yes, any one."

I bit my lower lip, scanning the wardrobe. Finally, I hesitantly started looking through the clothes, one by one, with Anwar silently watching my every move.

"Let's choose a shirt first. Shirts are probably easier than pants, right?"

I grabbed a large, cream-colored, crew-neck wool sweater. Anwar raised an eyebrow. He nodded slightly. "Do you like it because of the color or the style?"

The color seems easy to wear…

"It looks comfortable."

"You want something comfortable, huh?" he asked, moving closer. But instead of pushing me away, he stopped just a hand's breadth from me. His arm moved, reaching for some pants.

I unconsciously held my breath. The distance between us was minimal, and as he searched, his arm risked brushing against my side and hip.

"You might not be able to wear my regular pants. They'll probably be too loose… but how about trying a pair with a belt?"

I nodded. Anything was fine.

Anwar picked up a pair of beige-gray trousers. His tall figure turned fully towards me before his arms went around my back.

"Sorry."

I froze. He then lightly placed the waistband of the pants around my neck.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

"A rough way to measure your waist," he chuckled. My shocked expression probably
amused him.

Anwar held the waistband around my neck with one hand; his other hand touched the empty space inside. "See? If it fits at the waist, there won't be any gap here. If it's too tight, it'll choke you. If it's too loose, there will be space like this."

"I didn't know you could measure it like that."

"They're way too loose. You have a very small waist," he smiled, reaching past me to grab a black leather belt. He offered it to me. "Try this on. The shirt will cover your waist anyway."

I felt strangely embarrassed. What are you supposed to feel when a guy comments on how small your waist is like that?

But my reaction seemed to have confused him.

"...I could go wait outside," he quickly pointed towards the door.

"No, no, it's fine. Whatever's convenient," I replied. How could I dare to shoo the owner of the room out? Besides, he's a guy too. I've changed clothes in front of my best friend
countless times.

I moved to stand in the corner of the room while Anwar sat down on the bed.

He pulled off his simple white t-shirt.
Glancing at him, I saw he wasn't looking at me. Anwar chose to sit with his back to me, engrossed in his phone.

"I'm done," I said once I'd fastened the belt and pulled the oversized shirt down.

Wearing his clothes like this only highlighted how different our sizes were.

And the height difference…

The trousers were far too long, going well past my ankles. The sleeves were the same.
I looked like a child who'd stolen an adult's clothes.

Anwar must have thought the same. When he looked at me, his tall figure froze slightly. A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth before he quickly hid it by pressing his lips together.

"Mmm, you really are smaller," he broke the silence. "Let me see."

I nodded and walked towards him on the bed. Anwar reached out and pulled up my shirt, revealing my stomach and the trousers that were cinched so tight at the waist that the fabric was all bunched up.

His beautiful eyes met mine. Seeing my stillness, he instructed me to hold the shirt myself.

His hands gently moved, smoothing the waistband of the trousers around my waist, preventing it from bunching.

His handsome face was lower than mine, and his slender fingers occasionally,
unintentionally touched my stomach.

Everything felt overwhelming at that moment. I felt like I was going crazy.

"That won't work. If you want to try trousers like that, you'll have to go try them on in a store.

How about track pants instead?" He pushed my hips gently before going back to the closet and grabbing soft sweatpants, a similar color to the shirt. "These should be more comfortable."

But would I look like I was heading to PE class?

"..." I unbuckled my belt. The loose trousers fell to my hips. This time, Anwar just watched me, his expression neutral, showing no particular emotion.

I felt awkward, even though his gaze wasn't predatory or overly intense.

The cool air hit my bare legs. I quickly grabbed the sweatpants from him and hurriedly put them on. Then I stood up straight to show him.

He looked satisfied.

He gave a small smile, nodding slightly to himself. "Want to check the mirror?"

Even the elastic waistband was too big. I had no idea what Anwar's waist or physique was like, but judging by his height and the muscle definition in his shoulders and arms, I assumed he must work out his abs regularly.

Anwar brought a large mirror for me to look in.

I didn't look like myself at all. Just changing clothes had completely altered the atmosphere around me.

"Do you like it?"

"I like it..."

"What colors do you usually like?"

"Black, cream, and white, I guess," I listed my preferred colors. It's because they're easy to match; I don't really think about it too much.

"Don't you like other colors? Your skin tone suits many colors," he offered another
long-sleeved shirt.

I took off my old shirt, gave it to him, and put on the new one.

Seeing myself improved, I immediately wanted to go shopping for new clothes. I never knew I could dress simply like this and still look good.

Normally, I wouldn't have considered trying on clothes like these. I was afraid they'd look like gym clothes.

I stared at myself in the mirror. The oversized clothes made me look a little silly, but I could imagine what they'd look like if they fit properly.

Anwar came up behind me, his beautiful eyes watching me through the mirror. His hand gently brushed my hair from my face.

A white wool hat settled on my head.

"....How does it look?" I mumbled, wanting to hear his opinion.

Anwar continued to stare at me calmly through the mirror, his slender fingers smoothing my hair into place, tucking it behind my ear.

That light touch made my heart pound.
"It's cute," he whispered softly, but the distance between us meant I heard it clearly.

That phrase again.

The pressure in the air, which had lessened, suddenly returned with a vengeance. I didn't know if he was deliberately creating it, or if I was doing it to myself.

Blue, stop!

I quickly looked down at the floor, shouting at myself internally, praying he hadn't noticed.

Even if he was still staring.

Because my face in the mirror... was incredibly red.

"Do you like it?" Anwar asked softly. He chose a pair of pants with a drawstring waist, and instead of folding the extra fabric outwards like normal, he bent down and adjusted the length, securing it neatly inwards with some kind of tape.

Is this a skill everyone possesses, or did he learn it from studying fashion?

Now the pants were the perfect size.

I nodded, turning to look at myself in the mirror. The outfit was a dark brown, well-matched, and the oversized shirt gave it an oversized style.

We'd been playing dress-up for several minutes. Anwar wasn't stingy with his clothes at all; on the contrary, he seemed to be having more and more fun, constantly finding things that suited me.

Some of the looks, I'd never even imagined myself in.

And they looked so good that I wanted to buy clothes like these for myself, instead of the clothes I wear every day.

"I like it. Um...could I ask you something?"

"Huh?"

"If I want to buy clothes like these, could you help me choose?" I pointed to myself. "I'm afraid I'll mess it up if I go alone."

Even though I had some examples now, I didn't think I could choose them by myself.
My sense of color and coordination, compared to Anwar's, was probably like a child's.

"Sure," Anwar smiled amiably. "What day works for you?"

"Whenever you're free. Any day works. Thank you so much."

"It's okay. I'm glad you like it," Anwar said, putting the clothes scattered on the bed back into the closet. I just stood there, staring at my unfamiliar reflection in the mirror.

Suddenly, I thought of P'Phim.

What would he think if he saw me dressed like this? Would he think it's good or not?

"Um...can I ask for one more thing?" I began hesitantly, afraid he'd be annoyed by my
endless requests, but Anwar just raised an eyebrow and turned to listen attentively.

"Could you take a picture of me?"

He looked surprised, before his expression changed after hearing my next sentence.

"My boyfriend wants to see it," I didn't even know why I said that.

Anwar stared at me silently, a shirt paused halfway in his hand for a second before he
blinked and nodded.

"I understand," he turned back to finish hanging the clothes. "Where do you want to take the picture?"

I thought about all the photos on his Instagram.

He often took pictures against simple backgrounds in his living room, and they always looked good.

This room was similar.

"The living room is fine," As soon as I suggested, Anwar nodded and walked out without looking back.

Was I imagining things, or did he seem irritated?

Was it because I'd asked for too much...?

Anwar used his phone to take the pictures.
Thinking he was in a bad mood, I grew tense.

There wasn't a single click of the shutter as I sat stiffly on the sofa, not even knowing if he'd taken any pictures yet.

Anwar held his phone still, staring at me silently through the screen.

Then he said flatly, "How long have you been dating your boyfriend?"

???

"Not...not very long," The random question confused me, but I answered simply.

"Is he cute?"

Cute? P'Phim is more of a cool type, if I had to define it.

I shook my head.

"Did you meet him at university?"

"Uh-huh. He's a senior."

"How old are you?" He kept asking questions, his hand still holding the phone.

"Twenty-one..." I'm older than my classmates. It's because I spent a year studying abroad in high school.

Actually, I'm only twenty, but I'll be twenty-one in a few months.

Anwar smiled faintly. The gloomy atmosphere from before vanished, making me think I'd misinterpreted everything.

He bent down, tapping something on his phone, and walked toward me.

"If you want to change, just leave the clothes on the bed," he said.

"Oh, are you going out?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied curtly. After sending the pictures, he went into the room, grabbed a jacket, put it on, and went downstairs.
I slumped onto the sofa and looked at the pictures.

None of the shots showed me looking as tense as I had been earlier, when he’d been talking to me, had he been trying to get me to relax?

I looked at myself in the pictures...I wasn't forcing a strange, strained smile like in Gia's photos. My expression was neutral, but it didn't look angry.

My posture, the clothes, the light coming from outside, and the overall color tone...
They were the best pictures of me ever taken.

I reflected on Anwar's momentary gloom. I probably wouldn't dare to bother him with so many requests again.

I sighed, rolled around on the soft bed, and stared at my phone.

"..." I followed Hazel, Audrey, and Jasper, and they all followed me back.

Something made me hesitant to follow Anwar like everyone else.

Was it his irritated expression earlier?

But he did smile at me in the end...

Or was it just a polite smile? You can be annoyed with someone and still smile, can't you?

"...Ugh," I lightly banged my head on the bed.

I don't know anymore. Don't make this awkward. I'll look more problematic if I follow everyone except Anwar.

I quickly pressed the follow button.

A surge of pressure filled me, gradually fading as hours passed and a new day dawned.

He didn't follow back.