He closed the laptop. The rain stopped. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t reach for his camera. He just sat in the quiet, letting the flash not fire.
He raised the camera without thinking. Click. ISABELLA -34- jpg
Leo clicked it open on a Tuesday night, the rain drumming a loose rhythm against his studio window. He wasn’t even looking for her. He was deleting old backup drives—a digital exorcism before a cross-country move. But there she was. He closed the laptop