For years, I’d been searching for a poetry book I lost somewhere in the house. It wasn’t on any of the shelves Hassani installed, so I figured if it was anywhere, it had to be in one of these boxes. That was part of my incentive to finally declutter.
I unpacked one box, then reached for another, pulling it out of the corner, when I spotted something unexpected.
My old camera.
The one my dad gave me when I was a teenager.
And sitting right beside it was the newer camera I purchased shortly after Hassani and I started dating.
My heart stuttered at the sight of them.
The newer camera was the one I’d taken on our wedding and honeymoon trips to Jamaica and Saint Lucia.
The older one… I hadn’t used in years. The last film I developed from it captured my time in Egypt.
I palmed it, feeling a dull ache press into my chest from the weight of it in my hands.
I used to love this 35mm film camera like it had a heartbeat.
And to me… it did.
Slowly, I ran my thumb over its casing, angling it toward the light so it bounced off the lens.
I set the camera beside me and leaned forward for my other camera. A simple point-and-shoot digital one with a standard LCD screen.
I immediately powered it on, skimming through the photos stored inside.
As I flipped through them, a smile stretched across my lips, unstoppable.
There were shots of me on my wedding day.
Shots of Hassani and I on our honeymoon.
God, we looked so happy.
Like, truly happy.
Lost in our own world.
I clicked through more photos—one of him by the pool, sketchbook in hand, of course.
I snickered, shaking my head. Not much has changed. The sketchbook was still a huge part of our life.
More images appeared…
The villa we stayed in.
The beach, in Saint Lucia, we visited every single day.
Plates of food from every restaurant we tried.
Then… clips of us kicking up sand as we ran along the beach, laughing—completely and utterly carefree.
I even stumbled upon photos of me that I had no idea Hassani had taken.
Candids.
Photos where I wasn’t posing.