24. Rule Of Thirds
Rule Of Thirds
Natalia
Standing in front of Nagoya Castle, I remember who I am.
Natalia Sawadzka, a Polish powerhouse in designer footwear.
A force to be reckoned with that looks amazing next to pretty landmarks.
The setting looks like a painting. The sky is pure blue, the castle white and green with gold flashing from the roof and all I can do is admire how good we look together.
Perfect.
“This,” I tell Rafe, handing him my phone, “is why Japan was made for me. Hold it vertically.”
“I know how phones work.”
“Your Instagram says otherwise.”
Kasia laughs as I check the frame over his shoulder and tell him to lower it. He does, but too far, forcing me to correct him again. “Not that low. I’m not selling shoes. I’m selling an experience.”
“You’re standing in front of a wall.”
“A very historic, pretty wall.”
He stares at me until I point at the screen. “Rule of thirds, Rafe.”
“I write about Greek myths and the melancholia of existence. Can't say I'm well versed in the rule of thirds.”
Kasia takes over, finds the angle instantly, and nods.
That’s all I need. The minute the camera is on me, everything clicks into place: chin down, shoulder angled, hand in my pocket.
I let the wind move my hair, look away, then back like someone called my name.
For a while, I don’t think about Kiri, last night, or whether he regrets it.
I just think about what I’m doing, how I'm posing, the best angles and lighting.
We shoot by the moat, beneath the trees, and along the approach. I film transitions, redo takes when Rafe moves too early, and keep one where a kid runs into frame waving like he’s part of it because he's too adorable to cut. By the time we leave, I have enough content for days.
At Oasis 21, I officially lose my mind. The glass roof curves overhead like a spaceship, light bouncing off of every gleaming reflection, everything my feed has been missing.
I make Kasia walk beneath me while I film from above, then switch places.
She rolls her eyes but plays along, while Rafe carries my coat and buys drinks without complaining. I hate him a fraction less than usual.
I make sure to post before we leave.
Nagoya, You're So Pretty.
Reactions flood in. Hearts, comments, brand messages, and men from Ohio offering to show me the “real Japan.” Then his name appears.
bomos_tra liked your story.
My stomach flips. He likes the next one, then the next. Even when we weren’t speaking, he still watched, leaving silent proof that he was there while refusing to talk to me. I try not to smile at the idea that I have his attention and fail.
ōsu is chaos in my favorite way, crowded streets, vintage signs, music I can’t place.
I film jackets, street food and Kasia trying on ridiculous sunglasses.
Rafe burns his mouth while pretending he didn’t and Kasia can't stop laughing at his reaction.
I buy lip tints, a tiny ceramic crocodile, and a black mesh top that will absolutely break Kiri.
I post the crocodile with the caption Found Local Wildlife, and he likes it instantly.
Then I post the top with Responsible Purchases Only, followed by a mirror clip of me holding it against my body.
He likes both. I bite my lip, because he knows exactly what he’s doing.
The thought stays with me all afternoon, warm and secret, tucked inside of me.
Every time my phone vibrates, I expect his name, and for a while, it’s there.
Then it isn’t. I post again and get nothing.
Another story brings the same result. Maybe reception is bad or he’s busy, but the mood dims anyway.
I’ve convinced myself I don’t care just in time for dinner.
Inside Atsuta Hōraiken the smell of grilled eel fills the private room as everyone arrives in random spurts.
I keep watching the door as each person makes their entrance.
Rithy comes in last, alone, and the empty space beside him makes my chest cave in.
“Where’s Kiri?” I ask as casually as I can.
Rithy looks at me just long enough to make me regret it. “He’s not feeling great, probably exhaustion. He didn’t sleep much.” My face heats, but Rithy stays neutral. “It's been a long tour. I'll be his meal delivery service tonight.”
“He’s never liked eel anyway,” Ronan says as he lifts the lid from his meal and practically moans in pleasure at the smell.
“There's no accounting for taste,” Signe says.
Rithy glances my way. “Admittedly he has some… unexpected preferences.”
I stab my eel harder than necessary.
Signe sits beside me, quieter than usual. “You looked stunning today. My feed was blowing up, not that I minded. Have a nice day?”
Normally I’d tease her and watch Kiri pretend not to listen from across the table, but there’s no one across from me tonight. I manage a response that's as enthusiastic as I feel.
“Yeah, I did. Thanks for noticing.”
Dinner continues around me but I don't feel a part of it. I laugh when I should, contribute when needed, and film the food out of habit, but my attention keeps drifting toward the empty seat. Maybe he really is sick. He looked exhausted this morning and didn't get much sleep because of me. That softens me before the other possibility returns. He’s avoiding me. The likes stopped because he's decided he’s seen enough. Dinner was too real, a reminder of everything he regrets, so now he’s hiding while Rithy delivers food.
Classic. Everyone warned me. He’s irresistible in the moonlight but disappears in the daylight, typical toxic male.
I almost believed that he was different.
My phone sits beside my plate with no message waiting. I open our chat and find his last text still there.
I’m sorry, Nat.
He doesn't seem very fucking sorry. He didn’t message this morning, hid all day, and now he isn’t here.
“You okay?” Signe asks.
“Wonderful. Isn't the eel delicious?”
She looks at my untouched food. “Yeah. Delicious.”
When dinner ends, Rithy carries a bag filled with everything except eel, and I pretend not to notice.
In the elevator, I make sure I’m with him without making it obvious.
When the doors open, everyone splits off.
My room is to the right, while Rithy goes left.
I slow just enough to watch him pass one door, then two, then three before stopping.
The door opens, and Kiri appears briefly in a dark shirt, his hair messy, hanging down over his eyes.
Rithy turns his head, so I hurry into my room and shut the door behind me, my heart racing.
I should edit, post, and answer messages.
Instead, I sit on the bed and imagine going to see him.
I’d knock, ask whether he’s actually sick or simply a pathetic fuckboy, and tell him he doesn’t get to touch me like that and then disappear.
I’d ask whether he regrets it, because that’s the real question beneath all the others.
The one that burns and makes it hard to breathe. That makes my eyes sting.
I lie back, fully dressed, boots still on and phone resting against my chest. I should get up, get ready for bed, but the exhaustion holds me there.
My last thought isn’t anger. It’s distance.
Just one more night, then we're going home. Seattle for me and somewhere else for him. Soon, we won’t even be on the same continent, and that hurts more than the empty seat at dinner.
I close my eyes, still planning how I’ll confront him, but sleep takes me before I decide.
Kasia knocks at eleven with the clipped, precise rhythm of a doctor, and irritation sparks the second I hear it.
I’m awake, technically, but still lying diagonally across the bed in a hotel robe while breakfast cools on the desk.
According to my phone, I should already be dressed for some sightseeing before soundcheck.
When I open the door, she takes one look at me. “You’re not ready. We leave in fifteen minutes.”
“I know, but I’m exhausted. A spa near Sakae messaged me after yesterday’s posts blew up. They offered a full treatment if I feature them, so I’m taking the afternoon off. I'll meet you all at the concert.”
She eyes me suspiciously, “It's the last day and you’re skipping soundcheck?”
The relief that crosses her face is unmistakable. She thinks I’m returning to myself, that whatever she noticed between Kiri and me has already burned out.
“I’ve seen soundcheck, I haven't seen Mizuha. I could use a few hours without listening to anyone yelling about cables. A rest and a reset before a whole day on planes. Plus, influencer stuff, connections. That was a big reason I even came, remember?”
“Yeah… that's fair, and a spa sounds nice when you put it that way. If you're sure, I’ll leave your pass with security.” She turns back. “Are you okay?”
I give her the bright smile everyone believes. “I’m amazing.”
Once she’s gone, I check my phone. No message. “Enjoy your distance.”
The spa sends a black car, and I film Nagoya through the tinted window before turning the camera toward my bare face. “Recovery day, because sake, it turns out, is not a recognized skincare ingredient despite my dedicated research.”
Mizuha occupies the upper floors of a hotel that smells like white tea and old money. I accept every treatment they offer. If I’m avoiding Kiri, I may as well emerge glowing, smooth, and moisturized enough to be visible from space.
I post a tray of oils beside a folded robe with Today's Office and check the viewers ten minutes later. Kiri watched it. No heart. I smile. Oh, kochany, are you disappointed I’m not beside the stage admiring your bass and pretending I don’t remember what those fingers did to me?
I post the steaming bath, city view, and my bare legs beneath a white robe.
He watches every one without liking anything.
I laugh to myself, at first it's just a giggle and then it erupts into something borderline hysterical.
He's pouting.
Isn't it funny, men insist they don’t want you, then take it personally when you stop presenting yourself for their convenience.
During the massage, I finally put my phone down.
Warm oil, strong hands, cedar and yuzu, it's bliss. Here, no one needs me to comfort them, perform grief correctly, or think about what Kiri and I are. I only have to lie still, and it’s glorious.
After lunch, the manager asks about a future campaign.
I give her my business email and leave feeling like a more expensive version of myself.
I still have time to catch soundcheck, but an adorable nail salon across the street is advertising a sudden opening in the window according to the translation on my phone.
That confirms it, the universe supports revenge.
I choose short almond nails in translucent pink, elegant despite what these nails were doing two nights ago.
I post them with Fresh Set. Kiri watches but still no heart.
The technician catches me laughing, and when I explain by just saying men, she nods with immediate understanding. Some truths are universal.
Back at the hotel, I realize soundcheck is nearly over.
I could hurry, but my pass will get me backstage whenever I make my entrance.
There's no harm in being late, except to Kiri, and that isn’t harm.
It’s education. I choose a black minidress that looks restrained from the front and exposes my back when I turn, then add sheer tights, tall boots, sharp liner, and glossy nude lips. Kasia sends a text.
R?vind starts in ten.
On my way.
I reply, and it's technically true, at least, once I find my purse again.
Traffic slows me further but I don't hurry once I arrive.
When security checks my pass, R?vind has finished and the arena is going dark.
I hear Kiri before I see him. The bass rolls through the concrete beneath my boots, deep enough to rearrange everything I spent the day pretending was settled.
A runner leads me to the side-stage guest area, where Kasia stands at the rail and R?vind gathers behind her.
She looks me over and whisper-shouts into my ear.
“The spa went well.”
I nod back, then lip-sync the word more than say it, “Perfection.” She smiles.
The band is three songs into the set when I finally settle into the side-stage light. Kiri notices, his fingers never falter, but his shoulders tighten as his gaze moves over my face, mouth, dress, and bare back before his jaw locks.
There it is: all the irritation he withheld from my stories.
I lean against the rail like I haven’t spent all afternoon tracking his views.
His next bass line lands harder and dirtier, and the crowd screams as he moves toward the front wearing Bomos’s detached expression beneath the veil.
I know better now. When his eyes cut back to me, that isn’t Bomos.
It’s tired, hungry, irritated Kiri, who watched everything and refused to reward me with a single heart because we’re at war. A war of wills.
I give him a tiny wave with my fresh manicure.
His eyes narrow, and I smile sweetly. You wanted me out of your orbit?
Well, just look how well I’m doing in my own.
My victory is short-lived, it dies the moment the music gets inside me.
His hands move over the strings with the same attentive precision he used on me, patient until patience becomes torture.
Heat slips beneath my skin, and I pick at some invisible lint on my dress as a distraction.
This is why I skipped soundcheck, not because I don’t care, but because I care so much it makes me stupid.
I stayed away because Kiri and I have started playing the same game. He can avoid dinner, I can miss soundcheck, and he can refuse to heart my stories while I arrive three songs late looking like every bad decision he's begging to make.
But the distance between us is still a lie. Even across the stage, I’m still caught in his gravity, and judging by the way he's looking at me, he’s still caught in mine.