A few days after Quayn brought up about the resources at the photog society, Zeland made an effort to scour the entire school before finally uncovering the little club room tucked in the folds of the West Wing corridors.

He scrolled through the pictures, marvelling at how his crappy photography skills somehow managed to miss out all the good-looking parts of the architecture. "I only have one memory card?" The pictures, mostly buildings and sceneries, flying past on the screen was a blurry movie tape of memories foreign to him, because frankly, he didn't remember taking half of the things he took.

"According to the records, yes."

"How do I check if I—" He started, pausing when a picture of someone flitted past. Scrolling back up, he stared at the figure—it was a girl.

Eyes widening, he scrutinised the person on the screen, surprised. He zoomed in on her face, his eyes traced the high arch of the nose and owlish caramel eyes.

How could he forget the girl hijacking his taxi before promptly dragging him to an impromptu photo-shoot? Her actions were so hazardously random he swore he was scarred, or at least, his loafers, which she very happily stomped on with her dagger heels, was scarred.

Why did he have a picture of her?

Brows scrunched, he stared at the pale girl laughing under the sunlight. From how her gleaming eyes were staring straight into the lens, and at him right through the screen, the camera was probably already aimed at her, snapping the photo when she turned.

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Had he known her from before? His mind whirled sloppily; he definitely had no recollections of her, though. It was kind of hard to forget people with hair the colour of cherry jam.

"Did you ask me something?" The redhead said, turning to look at the picture he was staring at, "oh, Raine, that's a nice picture, you should give it to her."

Grey eyes automatically pinning themselves on the redhead, his stare was one of blistering intensity even he himself didn't notice. "You know her?"

The redhead raised an eyebrow at his question. "You don't know her?"

He looked back at the picture, waiting for his forgotten recollections to come gushing at him, like how they usually did, in a tsunami; nothing came.

"She's a senior, graduated last year if I'm not wrong. You can say she's a very enthusiastic alumni, she comes back a lot."

She graduated last year... He chewed on that thought. Maybe he'd known her before, or she had known him before, if that was the case, then it would explain the unsettling familiarity he seemed to experience every time he looked at her, last time when she slid into his taxi, and here, now, in a picture.

"Which course was she in?" He asked. Same course maybe?

"Fine Arts I think? Or was it Film Studies... well I know her elective was Photography, she's really big on taking pictures, oh, and, you know The Wall? Yeah she came up that idea, but they took it down." She sighed. "It was really nice, I loved it, why did they have to take it down..."

"The wall?" He perked up.

"Yeah, we used to do up this wall of pictures, along the hallways of the East Wing." His brows raised at her words. A wall of pictures along the East Wing?

"Used to?" He caught.

"Yeah it was like years ago. It was awesome." Her hands flailed to measure her revere.

"Do you have pictures of 'The Wall'?" He was curious.

"Pictures?" Her voice peaked, her brows raising as though the question he asked was beyond peculiar. "Hm, let me think—oh wait, I do, it's on my phone."

"iPhone?" He asked, and she nodded, "mind airdropping me?"

"Sure."

A few taps, and the pictures zipped its way into his camera roll. "Thanks." He tapped the glass counter, smiling.

"No problem."