Emannuele Burrill was slightly lost in thought, considering her packed schedule upon arriving in Cannes:
Non-stop.
As a professional photographer, she was supposed to arrive in Cannes two days ago to prepare for the upcoming two weeks of hectic work. But due to delays with her shoot for the Italian edition of Vogue, she only managed to rush here today.
For the next few days, she figured she wouldn't even have time to eat.
Thinking about this made Emannuele a bit anxious; however, as a woman in a field dominated by men, if she wanted to break through, she had to be stricter with herself and work even harder. Missing any opportunity was simply not an option.
Not only could she not miss a chance, but she also needed to complete every task to 100% perfection.
The work for the Italian edition of Vogue was like that, and so was the work for the Cannes Film Festival. For Emannuele, who was in the prime of her career, this was a rare opportunity.
Taking a deep breath, Emannuele hurriedly prepared to get off the train. When she noticed a shadow blocking her path, she almost couldn't stop in time and nearly collided head-on with it.
Luckily, the man's friend stepped in just in time.
Emannuele didn't dare imagine what it would mean if her right hand were injured.
"It's fine, I'm fine," Emannuele quickly called out.
Looking up to thank him, she found herself staring into a strikingly handsome face under a San Francisco 49ers baseball cap. The words caught in her throat as her eyes slightly widened.
She froze for a moment—he looked familiar.
But her mind was too cluttered with the day's hustle and bustle to dwell on it, and before she could snap out of it, the young man and his friend had already walked away.
"Oh, and there's Ceylan, Nuri-Bilge Ceylan. Trust me, even though he's still young, he's definitely one to watch."
"I'm really curious about the work he's bringing this time. I wonder if I'll have the chance to see it…"
Excitement, joy, youthful energy.
Like all the young people arriving in Cannes, there was an undeniable sense of passion and happiness in their voices, their expressions radiating with optimism.
That face—though only a brief glimpse—lingered in Emannuele's mind. Her gaze involuntarily followed his silhouette as he moved through the crowd.
Wait, is that—
He was wearing a white T-shirt under a light blue striped linen shirt, paired with dark blue shorts. The shirt's lower buttons were fastened loosely, with the hem casually tucked into his waistband. He completed the look with dark blue boat shoes.
The Mediterranean holiday vibe flowed effortlessly, simple yet elegant, casual yet sophisticated.
Even the seemingly out-of-place baseball cap added a unique flair. Unlike the traditional round-brimmed straw hats often worn on European holidays, this cap added a touch of youthful rebellion and flair. The combination of long sleeves and shorts was another contradiction that worked, breaking conventions and standing out.
As the brim of the cap tilted up, a bright and dazzling smile spread across his face, as if the blue skies and seas outside had dimmed in comparison.
Amidst the bustling crowd, Emannuele's eyes were immediately drawn to him.
Her tired and foggy mind finally started working again—
She quickly pulled her camera from her backpack.
It wasn't a high-end, large-lens camera, but a retro film camera, compact and easy to carry, perfect for her on-the-go job.
Emannuele didn't rush. She framed the figure in her lens, grabbed her luggage, and swiftly navigated through the crowd, following him.
Then, he stopped, standing still as if looking for someone.
In the busy Cannes train station, the hot air seemed palpable, even indoors. A beam of sunlight filtered through the windows, landing gently on his shoulders, softly outlining the contours of his face and jaw.
Despite the throng of people, his height and build made him stand out, effortlessly rising above the crowd. The surrounding figures blurred as all attention naturally converged on him.
In that moment, the only thing visible in Emannuele's viewfinder was him.
Time seemed to slow.
Emannuele paused, raised her camera, and focused on him.
Adjusting the focus, she waited.
In a fleeting moment, he glanced back, and she pressed the shutter, capturing time and light in one frame.
Click.
Emannuele held her breath. All her exhaustion and weariness melted away, and nothing else mattered. It was as if she could hear the sound of her blood rushing through her veins, feeling a surge of passion all over again.
The next second—
He seemed to have found his target, his lazy but warm smile curving upward as he hoisted a shoulder bag over one shoulder, raised his hand, and waved.
At that moment, an image from a movie flashed through Emannuele's mind—
The scene in The Talented Mr. Ripley where Ripley arrives on a Mediterranean island, finding an easygoing job, unaware that he was stepping onto a dark path.
An atmosphere, a vibe, a feeling.
Words couldn't accurately describe it, but it effortlessly submerged the heart.
Click.
Emannuele pressed the shutter again.
Anson Wood.
Even though Anson had been overexposed globally, seeing him in person still brought a wave of admiration.
His clothes were just clothes, nothing special. But on Anson, re-arranged and combined, they exuded a unique charm, making it impossible to look away from his effortless charisma.
Who would have thought that such a casual, laid-back outfit could still turn heads? Even in a bustling crowd, he easily stood out, making everyone around him fade into the background.
Suddenly, an idea popped into Emannuele's mind—
The American edition of Vogue had previously done a feature on Anson's fashion choices during the Catch Me If You Can press tour. So why not do a European version now? Maybe the French or Italian editions of Vogue would be interested?
It was a bit risky, though. After all, they had already done a similar feature, and doing it again might seem repetitive. Plus, she wasn't sure how long Anson would be staying in Cannes or if the band's tour would continue afterward.
But another thought sparked in her mind—
Recently, Europe had been abuzz with talk of the August 31st band's tour. People hadn't anticipated such a format and were utterly captivated. But had anyone paid attention to Anson's street performance outfits?
These details weren't like those of a concert, carefully curated and designed, but rather more reflective of Anson's personal taste. Could there be something to explore here?
Emannuele wasn't sure. No one had tried this before, so it could be a brilliant idea or a complete disaster. But deep down, an irresistible urge gnawed at her.
She looked up again, watching Anson's figure disappear into the distance—
Her blood pulsed with excitement. Could this really be normal?