FRAMED IN THE MOMENT
833 Words
Chapter Four
Saturday mornings always felt like a breath between chapters—slower, softer, and filled with just enough light to make the city feel forgiving.
I left the apartment early with my shopping list tucked into my pocket, heading out to pick up a few last-minute things before Monday. My first day at Famrico was just around the corner, and I still didn’t have the kind of clothes that said professional instead of please hire me. Dani had made me promise I’d at least get a second pair of flats and a proper notebook.
The morning air was crisp, and everything felt slightly more alive than usual—maybe because for the first time in forever, I felt like I belonged somewhere.
I stepped out of the stationery store, tucking a fresh set of pens and a cream-colored notepad into my tote, when I spotted him across the street.
The photographer.
He was crouched by a park bench, camera in hand, adjusting his lens like he was about to capture something ordinary and make it unforgettable. His hoodie was different this time—a forest green one—but his presence was unmistakable. Calm. Intentional. Still completely unaware of how much our brief moment days ago had stayed with me.
Before I could decide whether to look away or keep staring, he glanced up.
And saw me.
A smile tugged at his lips—small, genuine.
He stood and walked toward me, crossing the street in unhurried steps.
“You again,” he said with a quiet kind of amusement.
“Yeah,” I replied, smiling too. “Looks like we keep bumping into each other.”
He nodded at the bag in my hand. “Shopping for something exciting?”
“First day on the job is Monday,” I said. “So... trying to look like I belong in an office.”
His gaze lingered for a moment, thoughtful. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I said softly. “Still feels unreal.”
He looked at the café just beside us. “Have time for a quick coffee?”
I hesitated for just a second, then nodded. “Sure. Why not?”
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The café was warm and inviting—tiny round tables, old wooden chairs, soft jazz humming in the background. We sat by the window, two steaming cups between us. I had ordered a caramel latte; he chose black coffee, no sugar.
For a moment, neither of us said much. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... quiet. Natural.
“So,” I said finally, “do you always walk around taking photos of strangers in the rain?”
He let out a short laugh. “Only the ones who stare at buildings like they’re dreaming.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s oddly specific.”
He shrugged. “You looked like a story that day. I didn’t want to forget it.”
Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten.
I looked down at my cup. “Well, it worked. I didn’t forget you either.”
He reached into the backpack at his feet and pulled out a slim envelope. “Actually, I brought something for you.”
I blinked as he slid it across the table.
I opened it slowly—and there it was.
A printed photo. Me, standing in front of the Famrico building, just after the rain. My eyes lifted toward the sign, my expression quietly determined. There was something in it—something raw. I didn’t even know I had looked like that.
I stared.
“This is…” I paused. “I don’t have words.”
“You don’t need any,” he said simply. “It’s yours.”
“I don’t usually like photos of myself.”
“Most people don’t,” he replied. “But this one—this one matters.”
I kept looking at the image. “Why did you give it to me?”
He thought for a second. “Because beginnings deserve to be remembered.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Thank you. Really. I’ll keep it.”
He gave me the smallest nod. “You should.”
I glanced at him then, curious. “Do you ever share your name?”
A quiet smile spread across his lips. “Eventually.”
I laughed lightly. “Mysterious.”
“Only a little.”
We finished our drinks without rushing, letting the quiet stretch between us like an unspoken promise.
When we stepped back out into the soft afternoon light, I turned to him. “Well... thanks again. For the photo. And the coffee.”
“Good luck Monday,” he said, his tone warm. “You’ll be fine.”
With that, he walked away, camera slung back over his shoulder, disappearing into the crowd once more.
I held the photograph close to my chest and smiled.
I still didn’t know his name.
But somehow, I had a feeling I’d see him again.
- Writer
