At Prasad Bidapa's studio, the first thing Bani learned was that modelling wasn't about becoming someone new.
It was about returning to herself—with clarity, with breath, with posture.
Each week chipped away at layers she didn't know she was wearing.
The slouch she thought was comfort? It was fear.
The soft voice she thought was politeness? It was hesitation.
The modesty she wore like armour? Sometimes, it was invisibility.
Tara's mirror drills hurt more than any workout.
But slowly, Bani began to stand—not just upright, but true.
She started to notice how her limbs moved, how her breath settled, how space shifted when she walked into a room.
And through it all, her magic pulsed quietly beneath her skin.
Her Magical System — Not a Trick, But a Compass
Bani's magic didn't manifest as glowing hands or whispered spells.
It didn't bring riches, glam, or sudden skill.
What it gave her was more profound:
A deeper connection to her own truth.
Whenever she drifted—into doubt, comparison, or self-criticism—something subtle would rise in her:
A breath that slowed down time.
A grounding feeling in her heels.
A stillness in her chest that silenced external noise.
On days when her walk faltered, her magic didn't lift her.
It reminded her to feel the floor beneath her feet.
When her voice trembled, it didn't fix the pitch.
It brought her attention back to breath, to honesty.
When she wanted to disappear, it didn't block the world out.
It gently whispered, "You're allowed to be seen."
She spoke more in class again—measured, clear. Her English professor smiled when she finally argued that Rosie from The Guide wasn't weak, just judged too soon.
She walked.
She paused.
She looked into the mirror—and didn't flinch.
Even Tara noticed.
"You don't seem louder," Tara said once. "But you're more… present."
Bani didn't reply.
She just smiled—and that was answer enough.
After three long months
It was a small outdoor amphitheatre at a design college in Bangalore. A local sustainable fashion show. Soft yellow bulbs strung above, breeze in the trees.
But for Bani, it was sacred.
Backstage was a flurry of voices and pins and lipstick.
Meghna stood next to her, nervously mouthing her steps. Bani just stood still, palms on her sari pleats, spine aligned.
She wore a handloom cotton sari in deep indigo—minimal blouse, silver bangles, hair tied in a low bun with a single wildflower tucked in.
Just herself. And her magic?
It hummed softly under her ribs—not loud, but certain.
The kind of certainty you don't need to explain to anyone.
Her Walk
Her name was called.
She stepped forward, inhaled, and began.
Not fast. Not theatrical.
Each step landed like punctuation.
Each turn said: I'm here. I'm not sorry.
The crowd didn't erupt. They didn't gasp.
But they watched.
Because something about her said stillness, not spectacle.
Presence, not performance.
By the time she reached the end of the walkway, the wind had picked up slightly, lifting the edge of her pallu like it knew her story.
She turned.
And for the first time in her life, she didn't wonder if she was enough.
She knew.
After the Show
The applause was warm, not wild.
A young woman from a fashion blog came over later and said quietly, "You weren't the flashiest… but I couldn't take my eyes off you."
Bani smiled—politely, gently.
And inside, her magic smiled too.
Would you like to explore what happens next?
A small magazine feature?
A silent turning point where a scout notices her?
Or Bani navigating local fame with the same grounded presence?
Let's keep building her world exactly as she is: real, quiet, and undeniable.
Bani's First Studio Photoshoot – Portfolio Building (Prasad Bidapa Studio)
Bani arrived at the studio at 9:45 a.m. sharp. She wore simple jeans, a white kurta, and floaters—clean, no makeup. She had followed the instructions carefully: come with freshly washed hair, no products, and a neutral face.
At the reception, she gave her name. The assistant checked her in and guided her to the waiting lounge.
A few other fresh faces were already there—young men and women, quietly scrolling their phones or sipping water. Everyone seemed a bit alert, but calm.
Within ten minutes, a stylist called her name.
"Bani? You'll start with clean shots. Please change into the black top and grey trousers on the hanger."
She went into a private changing room. The clothes fit well—neutral, structured, nothing flashy. She tied her hair into a neat bun as instructed.
Set 1: Clean Headshots
The shoot space was wide, quiet, with softbox lights already set up. A grey backdrop. No props.
The photographer, a man in his 40s named Ajay, stood by a tripod, adjusting a Canon DSLR. He nodded as Bani entered.
"We'll start with natural shots. Just stand center. No posing. Look at me, not the camera at first."
She did as told. Arms relaxed, chin neutral, face calm.
Ajay took test shots. Then asked her to turn slightly to her right. A few more clicks. Then left. Close-up. Then full face again.
"Now, look into the lens. Eyes steady. No smile."
He gave basic cues: lift chin slightly, soften eyebrows, adjust posture.
Click. Click. Click.
Makeup and Grooming
After the clean shots, Bani was guided to a small grooming station. A makeup artist applied a light base—concealer, powder, subtle lip tint. Just enough to even out her skin for the camera.
Her hair was brushed and parted. Nothing dramatic. No heavy styling.
"We want you to look like yourself, just camera-ready," the makeup artist said.
Set 2: Groomed Portraits
Now back at the shoot space, Ajay changed the lens and lighting setup slightly.
"We'll take mid-close shots now. Little more expression. Not smiling, but comfortable."
He asked her to shift weight on one leg, tilt her head gently, rest one hand on her hip.
Small movements. Each held for just a second.
The shoot was quiet and quick. No loud music. No over-talking. Just clear instructions and adjustments.
Set 3: Full-Length Shots
For the next look, Bani changed into a shirt dress and block heels provided by the team. The stylist helped belt the dress neatly at the waist.
The lights were repositioned. Ajay asked her to walk to a mark on the floor and pause.
"Relax your hands. Keep your shoulders back. Now take one step forward… stop. That's it. Hold it."
A few shots followed of her standing, mid-step, side angles, slightly turned away. The goal was to capture balance and posture.
"Okay, let's try one seated," he said.
A plain stool was brought in. Bani sat, crossed one leg at the ankle, rested an elbow on her knee. Ajay clicked a few portrait shots from lower angles.
Final Look
Last, Bani was asked to wear her own outfit for the "natural personality" shots. She changed back into her kurta, sleeves rolled up.
The light was adjusted to natural window light.
"Look out the window. Then slowly turn back to camera."
Click.
Pause.
Click.
No pressure. No acting. Just small, direct instructions.
Wrap-up
By 1:30 p.m., the shoot was done.
A team member helped her pack her things, reminded her that selects would be shared by email in a week.
"You did fine. Don't overthink. Just wait for the edits."
Bani thanked them, signed the day's register, and quietly walked out of the studio.
There was no applause. No feedback yet. But she had completed her first proper portfolio shoot—step by step, clearly, professionally.