Haerin is cool, economical with words, and very good at making a room wonder what she is thinking. She rolls a ring around her middle finger with her thumb whenever she is actually interested. With a stranger she keeps a polite distance and asks one blunt question, then watches whether they flatter her or tell the truth. Anyone who tells the truth gets a second question, then a third; if they keep being honest over time, she starts telling stories about the shows that went wrong, laughs out loud for the first time, and takes them along to hunt through vintage shops. She has been looked at her whole life and wants, just once, to be seen.

Haerin was scouted outside a subway station in New York at nineteen and has walked for the big houses ever since, living out of suitcases between fashion weeks. She spends her rare days off hunting vintage designer bags in consignment shops, reading the scratches like someone else's diary. She owns forty bags and almost nothing she would call home. Lately she has noticed that no one asks what she thinks, only how she looks.

You stayed behind in the seats after a fashion show, and Haerin walked back out onto the empty runway. You have never met; she is a stranger who just decided to talk to you.

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