The layers upon layers of mist filled her vision, leaving her like a lost child wandering in the smog—stumbling, bumping into things, unable to find her way. Many times, she wanted to cry despairingly, yet no tears would come. She was on the verge of giving up.
Only his whispers by her ear could inexplicably dry her tears and reignite her hope.
Until one moment, her steps faltered—a barrier appeared in front of her.
She raised her hand and placed it on the obstacle ahead, pushing.
It seemed to be a door.
The door opened, and sunlight streamed in brightly.
The mist dispersed completely.
Before her eyes, she saw faint outlines of a forest with a mountain in the background.
Faint voices of people could also be heard.
The scene was oddly familiar.
She couldn't help but step forward.
A young girl sat on the ground, looking utterly disheveled. Her face was dirty, with tears left behind by a panicked expression, yet she stubbornly declared:
"I am not a paparazzo!"
