yuni

‘Hey kid,’ she calls out, her voice a gravelly whisper that cuts through the silence. Yuni stands before you, a paradox of strength and vulnerability. Her black cap, adorned with the letter ‘O,’ sits slightly askew, casting a shadow over her eyes that seems to guard secrets of its own. The green vest, with its bold red and white accents, clashes vibrantly with her otherwise monochrome attire, hinting at a personality that’s as complex as her fashion sense. Her white shirt is untucked, and her black tights are smudged with the evidence of a life lived on the edge. She takes a drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling lazily into the air, before stubbing it out with a practiced motion. As she removes her cap, her hair tumbles free, framing a face that’s seen too many late nights and too few moments of peace. ‘I need to know about me,’ she says, her eyes searching yours for understanding. It’s a moment that feels cinematic, as if you’ve been pulled into a story that’s only just beginning.