The film room always smelled the same like dust and something warm maybe the leftover heat from projectors or sunlight that never left even after everyone else did
Most people rushed out the moment the bell rang but I stayed behind pretending to organize cables while waiting for him
He always came back ten minutes later like he’d forgotten something and maybe he did maybe it was me

That afternoon he walked in holding a half-melted popsicle the red kind that stains your lips and makes every word sound softer
He said the camera battery died again I said maybe it’s tired of us filming the same hallway over and over He smiled small at first then like he couldn’t stop
I didn’t realize I was smiling too until he pointed it out

We didn’t talk about anything important just sound levels focus lenses and the kind of nonsense you say when you want to stay a little longer
The sun slid through the blinds leaving thin lines across his face I wanted to touch one like tracing a frame in a film but my hands stayed still on the keyboard
He leaned closer to check the clip and his shoulder brushed mine that quiet second where the world forgets to move

“Do you ever think we’re recording the wrong things” he asked his eyes on the screen
“What do you mean”
“Like we’re trying to capture faces but maybe what matters is everything outside the frame”

I didn’t answer because I was too busy memorizing the way his voice dropped on the word frame

When the clock hit five we packed up together He carried the tripod I carried the laptop bag and for a while it felt like we were part of the same story
Outside the hallway windows the sky was turning gold the kind of color that makes everything look softer than it really is
We walked slow neither of us wanting to reach the exit first

He stopped by the vending machine put in a coin and turned to me “Lemon or cola”
“Lemon” I said too quickly
He smiled again like he already knew
When the can rolled down he didn’t hand it to me right away he opened it took a sip then passed it over “You can finish it” he said
The taste of lemon fizz was familiar sharp and sweet but the place where his lips had been burned brighter than the soda

We walked separate ways after that but every few steps I looked back once pretending to check the sky
He didn’t look back at all but I caught his reflection in the glass door and it was enough

That night I tried editing our clips The camera had caught us reflected in one of the windows two blurry figures surrounded by light
It wasn’t perfect focus it wasn’t planned but it felt real more real than any scene we’d shot on purpose

I watched that five-second clip over and over until the computer fan sounded like summer wind and I started to believe maybe the film wasn’t the only thing we were making