Through the Lense

Zone finds himself intrigued by a woman who sees him as a person, not a legacy.

The Auto e Moto d'Epoca in Bologna is the largest event in Europe dedicated to motoring enthusiasts. The Exhibition is always a buzz of energy—a cacophony of gleaming chrome, the smell of polished leather and fresh paint filling the air, the soft hum of conversations, the whir of cameras clicking, the sound of engines revving for show. For the Manirat family, it's just another event in the calendar, a place where they can mingle with industry elites and admirers, where the latest models and designs compete for attention.

But for Zone, standing at the edge of the crowd and out of sight from his family's prying eyes, it's a rare opportunity to slip into the world without the weight of expectations. At twenty-one, he's still just the youngest Manirat—the one who's expected to follow in the family's footsteps without making too much noise. His brothers, Kam and Kit, have their own lanes carved out, both in the car industry and beyond. Zone still feels like a shadow in their towering presences.

He's not here to make deals, or find another luxury car to add to his growing collection. Instead, his eyes scan the crowd, taking in the sleek lines of the latest sports cars and the air of casual sophistication people wear as they stroll past. He can already hear the hum of whispered conversations surrounding the cars, the opinions, the praise. But today, he's more interested in the people—not the cars.

His gaze shifts from car to car, but it's the people he's really observing. The way they move, their reactions to the machines. For someone who has always been around racing and speed, there's something oddly captivating about the people who admire the cars just as much as he does.

And then, there's her.

She's standing alone by the display of a restored Ferrari 250 GTO—one of his family's contributions. She's crouched low, the camera in her hands capturing the angles of the car, the chrome reflecting the sunlight in sharp bursts. He'd noticed her first for the way she's engrossed in the moment, unaware of everything else around her. The camera—a sleek DSLR—catches the light as she shifts her body, finding the perfect shot, each shutter click a beat of rhythm that feels like it belongs to her alone.

Zone steps closer, trying to get a better look at her without being noticed. Her focus is so sharp, movements so deliberate, that she doesn't even seem to hear him approach. She shifts again, the camera bringing the Ferrari into sharp focus, her lips pressed together in concentration.

Her style is nothing remarkable—just a leather jacket, jeans, and boots, the kind of practical outfit someone would wear when they know they're going to be on their feet for hours. Her hair, dark and messy, falls in loose waves around her shoulders. But there's something about the way she carries herself that feels different—relaxed, but with a purpose. She's not here to be seen. She's here to capture something, to immortalize it through her lens.

His curiosity piqued, Zone breaks the silence. "You're really into cars, huh?"

She straightens up, the camera dropping to hang at her side as she glances at him. For a moment, her azure eyes flicker with that slight surprise—a sign she's been too immersed in her work to notice his approach.

"I guess you could say that." She shifts her gaze back to the Ferrari, her fingers resting on the camera lens as though she's still unsure whether to keep going or step away. There's a subtle warmth in the way she looks at him—appreciating him as a person, not some figurehead in the world of cars.

He's intrigued. Most people at the show know who he is, or at least, they know the Manirat name. Even if they don't, they're still keenly aware of the legacy his family has in the automotive world. But this woman… she doesn't seem to care. It's refreshing.

"You come to the show every year?" Zone lets the words out of his mouth just so he has something to say. She doesn't look like a regular.

She shakes her head, her camera swinging slightly against her side. "First time, actually. I got a call to cover it for a magazine. It's an industry I've always been curious about, so... figured why not? I'm just here for the car, but the stories of the people behind them. I want to know what makes them tick. What drives them."

Something flickers inside of Zone—like being seen in a different way. This woman doesn't know his name, doesn't know who he is, doesn't care about his family name, the racing, or anything that comes with it. For her, he's just another person—one who happens to be standing in front of her.

There's a beat of silence between them as she raises the camera to her eye again. Zone doesn't mind the pause. It's comfortable.

"What do you think about this one?" Her eyes have a playful gleam, like she's testing him.

Zone studies the Ferrari. "It's a classic, there's something about it that doesn't match the new stuff. Too clean, maybe."

"Agreed." Her laugh is soft, amused. "Sometimes the old stuff doesn't quite measure up."

Zone shakes his head. "But that's the beauty of it. It's timeless."

They're not talking about the car, not really. It's something else, something unspoken, hanging in the air between them. Zone doesn't try to figure it out—he's just… content.

"Sounds like someone knows exactly what he's talking about." She's not probing, not really. If anyone else made that statement, Zone would tie himself in knots trying to figure out what she really wanted. But there's no hidden agenda in this woman's eyes.

At least, none that he can see.

"My older brothers customize cars, both here and in Thailand." Zone makes it a statement of fact, because it is.

"So you're here for the show, too?" Her lips curve into a half-smile as she tilts her head slightly. "That's a rhetorical question. What's the point of coming to a car show if you don't love cars?"

"Fair point." He steps back a little so she has more space.

"I'm Iris." She raises the camera again. There's a flicker of curiosity in her voice now, a hint that she's willing to entertain the idea of a conversation. "You are?"

Zone could say his full name, let her put the pieces together and realize who he is. That would be the easy route, the one that most people take, where his name is the thing that dictates the conversation. But something about the way she's looking at him—like he's just another person, not the 'youngest Manirat'—makes him want to be someone else, just for a minute.

"Kiat. Actually, people call me Zone." He lets the name hang in the air, not adding anything more. He doesn't need to.

She gives him the once over, smile widening. "They call you Zone because you're so focused?"

"Actually, it's because my older brothers also have 'K' names and I wanted to be different." Zone has no idea why the truth pops out of his mouth. He's never said those words out loud before—that he wanted to be different. For some reason, that feels good. He should say it more often. Out loud.

Iris nods, like she's used to meeting people with names that are only part of the story. Zone can't help but admire her focus. She's not here for fame or the spectacle, not here to rub elbows with the rich and famous. She's here because of the craftsmanship, the artistry of machines. The purity of that interest stirs something in him.

"I've always had a thing for classics." He leans slightly against a nearby display stand. "Those engines...they have a soul."

"Oh yeah?" Iris glances at him, brow furrowed in amusement. "You a racer or something?"

"Or something." Zone gestures toward the Ferrari. "This one's my family's latest project."

Iris follows his gaze toward the display card on the car's name plate. "ManiratInfiniteDrift?"

Zone nods, bracing himself for what's coming next—recognition, admiration, even a little bit of awe. It's the same every time. The whispers, the questions. The inevitable follow-up: "You're part of the Manirat family, aren't you?"

But instead of leaning in with wide fangirl eyes or breaking into a grin of recognition, Iris frowns slightly. "What does that mean?"

"Wait, you—what?" Zone stumbles a bit over his own response, trying to make sense of it. "You don't... know who the Manirats are?"

"Nope." The shape of Iris' lips when she pops the "p" in that word does funny things to certain parts of Zone's anatomy. "Should I?"

For a second, Zone wonders if he should be disappointed. It's not just that she doesn't know the family name. It's that she's genuinely curious—no judgment, no preconceived notions. She's not impressed by his name or the wealth or the legacy that follows it. The Manirat name is something people usually fawn over, something that opens doors. But here, with Iris, it doesn't matter. And there's something about that fact that almost feels... refreshing.

"No, you don't have to know," He's never had to answer this question before—not like this, without the pressure of an expectation hanging in the air. "It's just ... we're kind of a big deal in the automotive world. My brothers and I. At least, here and in Thailand. That's where our main branches are—in Bangkok and Modena. My brother Kit customizes luxury cars and my brother Kam does the same for domestic ones, but that's only part of what our family's company does."

"I guess I'm missing out then." Iris raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a small smile, but there's no hint of awe or surprise in her expression. Instead, there's only mild curiosity—nothing that says she's suddenly going to look at him differently. Iris isn't fazed by the name, by the recognition, by the expectations. She's interested in what he has to say, not the brand he represents.

He straightens up, his posture a little less casual now, more self-aware. "So, you take pictures of everything? Or just cars?"

Iris lowers her camera slowly, a teasing smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Cars don't complain about how they look."

Zone arches a brow at her. "You think you could handle a shot of me?"

He's used to people wanting to capture his image, but this—this is different. There's a little edge to it, a little game being played. For once, he finds himself enjoying it rather than feeling trapped by it.

Her gaze flickers over him— just long enough for Zone to catch the way her lips twitch. "I think I like a good challenge."

He's not sure what he expects, but when she closes the gap, all he can think about is her scent—a wild and fiery mix of cinnamon and pomegranate. It's electrifying in a way that has nothing to do with the cars or the cameras around them. This doesn't have to end just yet. Not with the way she's looking at him, the playful challenge still lingering in her gaze.

"What if I wanted to be photographed somewhere other than a car show?" Zone leans closer, his breath teasing her ear.

Iris looks up at him, considering. Then she tilts her head, her lips curving into that mischievous smile. "Where did you have in mind?"

"There's a trattoria just down the street from here." Zone gestures toward the exit. "Makes gelato and cannolis to die for."

"Gelato sounds great." Iris' eyes twinkle. "And I could always go for a well filled cannoli."

Zone blinks, his mind momentarily derailing. Cannoli? He shifts his gaze away, trying to scrub the mental image of... that... from his head. He's known this woman for five minutes—gelato and cannolis are all she means, right?

Right?

Zone leads Iris out of the exhibition hall, fighting to pull his mind out of the gutter. The last thing he should be thinking about is that. Not with Iris. Not now.

Iris raises an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her lips. "I meant the cannoli, Zone. Just the cannoli."

"I know." Zone is grateful for the lingering his from the crowd. Maybe she'll think that's why his face is red, and not because of…other things.

"So where's this trattoria?" Iris glances up and down the street, waiting for him to show her the way.

Zone clears his throat, shaking off the heat still creeping up his neck. He gestures toward a narrow side street lined with old brick buildings. "Short walk from here. Not far, I promise."

"I trust you." Iris falls into step beside him.

Zone shoves his hands into his pockets, hyper aware of her presence. That cinnamon and pomegranate scent of hers seems to be stronger out here, away from the motor oil and revving of engines.

"So," Iris' gaze flicks over the cityscape before settling back on Zone. "Do you take all photographers you meet out for dessert or am I special?"

"You're special." The words slip out before Zone can stop them. "I mean, it's not a tradition or anything. I just like this place. Come here every year after the show."

Iris doesn't look convinced, but lets it go. "You said your family also has an office in Bangkok?"

"I'm from there." Zone confirms. "I mean, my dad's Thai, but my mom's Italian. My brothers and I split our time between Bangkok and here."

"That explains why you speak Italian so well." Iris grins at him.

"Yeah, I guess." Zone shrugs. "What about you?"

"Actually, I was born in Ayutthaya." Iris's shoulder brushes gently against his, and Zone can't tell if it's deliberate or not. "But mum and dad sent me to the International School in Milan since I loved photography so much. That's how I learned Italian. I'm mostly freelancing now until I start uni in Bangkok."

"Me too. I mean, I'm also starting uni in Bangkok soon." Zone takes one hand out of his pocket, letting it brush against the back of Iris' hand. She doesn't pull away.

"Which one?" Iris' grin widens when Zone tells her the name. Her fingers intertwine with his. "So I do get to see you again."

Zone's pulse spikes. She doesn't let go of his hand as they continue their walk up the street. This time, the brush of shoulders is definitely deliberate.

The trattoria comes into view—a small, family-run spot with a deep green awning and soft faux candlelight spilling onto the sidewalk. A glass case filled with pastries lines the back wall. Behind the counter, an older woman in an apron chats with a customer while scooping gelato. The smell of espresso and sugar wraps around them as they step up to the counter. Zone doesn't even have to look at the menu—he knows exactly what he wants. Food. He knows what food he wants.

Get a grip, Zone.

"Any recommendations?" Iris scans the options, lips pursed in thought.

Zone pulls his gaze from her face and back to the menu. "The cannolis, obviously. Pistachio's pretty good. And chocolate. I usually get both. Or tiramisu. Pistachio, chocolate, cannoli and tiramisu. If I'm in the right mood."

Why is he suddenly talking in these choppy sentences?

Amusement flickers in Iris' eyes. "Didn't take you for an indecisive guy."

"I know what's good. " Zone shifts his weight. "You wanted a recommendation. I gave you one."

"You gave me four." Her lips curl up, like she's fighting back a smile before mimicking his words back at him. "So I'll try them all. Because I'm in the right mood."

He should roll his eyes. Scoff. Do something to shake off whatever this is. Instead, he just lets her pull him up to the counter. They order two of everything Zone recommended before moving to a cozy corner. Light from the faux candles catches the mahogany highlights in her hair. She slides the camera off her shoulder once she sits. Her knee brushes against his.

Zone raises his eyebrows. "You're not going to take a photo of the food, right?"

"Not with this camera." She winks at him. "You look really good in this light."

Before Zone can say anything, the camera shutter clicks and he's momentarily blinded. "What the—"

"I told you." Iris laughs. "I like a good challenge. And I like my subjects to look natural, not posed."

"Natural, is that what I look like?" Zone blinks hard to get the random red and black circles out of his eyes. By the time Iris comes fully back into focus, she's holding a spoonful of gelato in front of his mouth. The combination of pistachio and chocolate fills his nose.

"I like 'em cute, too."

Zone hesitates for a fraction of a second before leaning in and letting her feed him. The gelato is cold, but the way she watches him—like she's studying every reaction, every tiny shift in expression—sends a different kind of heat through him. Iris hums, tapping the spoon against her lips in thought.

"You know," Her voice drops just enough to make his breath hitch. "I think I want something even sweeter."

Zone swallows, throat suddenly dry. "Yeah?"

"Mmm-hmm." She leans forward and the pistachio and chocolate is replaced by cinnamon and pomegranate, heady, intoxicating.

The invisible thread between them pulls tight. Something shifts. A silent agreement.

Zone closes the gap.

Instead of gelato, all he can taste is Iris.

And he's pretty sure she's about to become his new favorite flavor.

When they finally break apart, it's only by a breath, his forehead resting against hers. Her lips curve into a smile—playful, teasing, and something more. Zone's heart is still racing, and the words come out before he can stop them.

"That wasn't gelato."

Iris laughs softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "No, but I think it might be even better."