My name is Ron. I am twenty-six years old, and I find beauty in small things. Like these autumn leaves, falling soft and slow in the garden. I lift my camera to capture them.

This camera is five years old. I bought it new, and now it’s a little broken, a little worn. But it still works. It still sees the world the way I do. If you’re wondering why I haven’t replaced it. It's not about money. It’s because this is

THE CAMERA THAT CAPTURED HER.

It was five years ago when I first saw her, the day after I bought the camera.

I remember walking down the street, feeling the pleasant weight of it in my right hand. I’d rolled the sleeves of my white overshirt up to my elbows, and a playful morning breeze kept tugging at them. Underneath, I wore a plain black T-shirt and dark jeans, and a pair of scuffed white sneakers.

I could feel my hair, cut short and styled with those wispy, textured bangs, stirring against my forehead. I probably looked a bit messy, but I didn’t care.

Then, a single, cold drop of water hit my left ear. I looked up. The sky had darkened without warning. A second later, a bright flash made me flinch and squeeze my eyes shut.

Then came the sound.

kadak! 

The first heavy raindrop hit the pavement by my feet.

In an instant, the rain was everywhere. It fell hard and cold, soaking through my shirt in seconds.

I searched for shelter to my left and right but couldn't find any. Then, through the grey curtain of rain, I saw it: a phone booth, standing like a forgotten glass box halfway down the block.

I sprinted for it, my shoes slapping the wet pavement—

chapak, chapak.

I wrenched the door open, stumbled inside, and let it shudder closed behind me. For a moment, I just stood there, breathing hard. I dragged a hand through my soaked hair, flinging water onto the floor, then wiped my face with my damp sleeve. Next, I gripped the hem of my shirt and gave it a hard twist; a small stream of water pattered onto the rubber mat.

The camera was safe, in my right hand.

I tucked my left hand into my pocket, trying to look casual, and let out a long, slow breath.

Foooo.

I waited. The rain didn’t stop; it drummed against the glass roof like impatient fingers. I leaned forward to peer outside, but the world was a watercolor wash. The rain had painted blurry, twisting rivers down every pane.

Defeated, I shook my head and stared at the floor. I tapped the toe of one sneaker against it in a soft, rhythmic

tap-tap-tap

That’s when I heard them: footsteps. Quick and light, cutting through the white noise of the rain.

I glanced up, trying to place the direction. They grew louder, closer, and then the booth door flew open.

A gust of cool, damp air rushed in, carrying with it the smell of wet concrete and something faintly sweet, like rain on dry earth.

A girl stepped in.

She wore a frock the colour of early morning, a shade of cream fading into soft pink. On both wrists, thin silver bangles, and white sandals. Her hair was black and long, falling down her back, damp and clinging to her neck. A pastel-coloured crossbody bag was slung over her shoulder. She looked at me and blinked once, then stood on the left side, catching her breath, and began searching for something inside her bag.

She’s looking for a handkerchief, I thought.

She couldn’t find it. Frustrated, she smacked her own forehead with her palm and squeezed both eyes shut.

After a moment, I pulled my left hand out of the pocket, took my handkerchief, and silently offered it to her. I didn’t say anything.

She looked from my hand to my face, her hazel eyes holding a question. After a moment's hesitation, she took the handkerchief.

She dabbed the rain from her face and hands, then handed it back with a slight, graceful bow. She, too, said nothing.

I looked at her again. She was tightly squeezing the bag’s strap at her chest with both hands. Her eyes looked straight ahead. There was a quiet dignity in her stillness, a whole story in her silence.

My hand moved on its own. I raised the camera. The viewfinder framed her perfectly. My finger pressed the shutter.

Click.

The sound was too loud in the small space. She turned her gaze to me. Embarrassment burned my cheeks. I quickly turned my back to her and began to whistle a tuneless, shaky note. I stared intently at a single raindrop tracing a path down the fogged glass, as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Seconds passed. She didn’t speak. I wanted to turn, to explain, but my body was frozen.

Then I heard a soft ching-ching. The sound of bangles touching.

I glanced back.

She was looking at me, gently tapping her bangles together. She tilted her head, her eyebrows raised in a silent question: What did you just do?

I understood but played dumb. “What are you saying?” I asked, my voice rough. “Can’t you speak from your mouth?”

She held my gaze, then her hands began to move. They were elegant and expressive. She pointed to her lips, then shook her head slowly. I cannot speak.

My stomach tightened. I stayed silent for a few moments, then said, “I’m sorry,” the words tumbling out. “I took your picture without asking. It was wrong. I shouldn’t have.”

I lifted the camera in my hand and began a useless explanation. “I bought this yesterday. Today I wanted to capture something really beautiful... something unforgettable. But the rain suddenly started, and I couldn’t capture anything… but then I saw you—”

I stopped, realizing what I’d almost confessed. My eyes darted around the booth, landing anywhere but on her.

And then a few seconds later.

Ching-ching.

She had clinked her bangles again.

When I looked at her. She was smiling. It started in her eyes, softening them, then bloomed across her face, carving perfect, shallow dimples into her cheeks, and she made hand signs saying,

It’s okay.

At that moment, the world went quiet. The drumming rain faded. All I could hear was the slow, heavy pounding in my own chest.

Thump-thump…

Thump-thump…

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rain slackened, then stopped. She opened the door, and glanced back at me once before leaving, a look I couldn’t decipher.

I stood frozen for a moment before pushing the door open myself. I scanned the sidewalk, turned in a full circle, my eyes raking over the gleaming pavement and bright storefronts, but I couldn’t find her. She was gone.

***