It was one of those afternoons where the sky couldn't decide if it wanted to rain or burn through the clouds.
Jace stood at the edge of the subway platform, camera slung across his shoulder, backpack loose against his back. It's been a week and three days since Amy asked for a break.....it'd been hard to live with it but he had to respect her decision and give her some time to process things in her own way.
The train hissed in the distance like something waking up angry. He'd promised himself he'd get out of the house today, even if his heart still dragged behind his ribs like a weight.
The plan was to take the train, wander anywhere at all, find angles. Light. Texture. Something. Anything to remind him he was still a photographer.
The train screeched to a stop. He stepped inside, settled into a corner, pulled his hoodie up. Camera safe. Emotions locked down.
He didn't know exactly where he was going,he just wanted to leave the house, wanted to do something else.....take pictures, something he loved doing other than brood like a sad poet like Becca always said.
The train finally came to another stop after two initial stops and he alighted with the few others remaining in the train.
He ran his hand through his head as he wandered through the old ferry terminal, past rusted benches and graffiti-tagged railings. It wasn't the kind of place people photographed for beauty, but for truth.
He crouched and captured a faded blue bicycle chained to a cracked pillar, a graffiti paint of the Hollywood sign.
He moved ahead darting his head left and right searching for anything that whispered directly to him. He sighted a billboard and created a puddle in the ground which reflected the words on the billboard. It read: You Are Here.
He captured it and stared at it for a while before leaving.
The photos weren't loud or special.
But they were honest.
And that counted for something.
He ended up in Fallow Ridge, a quieter district with old brick buildings and a playground that looked like it hadn't seen children in years. He began again.
Click. And he captured;
A blue tricycle left on its side, half buried in leaves.
Click.
A rusted swing swaying with no wind.
Click.
A bird perched on the edge of a dry fountain.
He moved down the block. A cracked mural. A fire escape with vines crawling upward like ambition. A row of rain-drenched umbrellas hanging from a fence. More clicks.
None of it was groundbreaking. But it was something. And for the first time in days, he didn't feel like he was just surviving.
By early afternoon, he was heading back toward the subway entrance, phone in one hand, camera dangling from his neck, thoughts far away when it happened.
A sharp bump.
A splash.
A gasp.
"Dammit," a voice said.
Jace looked up just in time to see a woman holding out a paper cup that was now dripping coffee down her coat. She stepped back, blinking, then looked at him with a raised brow.
"Oh..... shit, I'm so sorry," he stammered, instantly reaching into his pocket for a napkin. "I wasn't watching where I...."
"It's fine," she said, accepting the napkin and dabbing at her coat. She looked more amused than angry. "You just baptized my coat in oat milk. Guess it's blessed now."
Jace blinked, surprised by the joke.
"Well... at least now I have a reason to finally do laundry."
He blinked. "I'm really sorry."
"No worries," she said, brushing coffee off with the napkin. "It's New York. If you haven't been hit by a distracted guy with a camera yet, are you even living?"
He gave a weak smile, nodded, and stepped aside to let her pass
"I'll survive," she said, stepping aside. "But maybe walk with your eyes next time, Mr. Daydream."
He gave a small, embarrassed chuckle and nodded.
She walked off toward the station entrance, and Jace followed behind a few paces, shaking his head. Of all the people to run into literally he had to pick someone witty and well-caffeinated.
On the Train, he sat near the window, scrolling through the photos on his camera's preview screen, half-focused. The rhythm of the train soothed him.
Until....
"Well, well," a voice said from beside him. "If it isn't Mr. Coffee Spiller aka Mr. Daydream."
He looked up.
It was her.
The same girl. Same coat. With a slightly damp coffee stain.
She plopped into the seat next to him with a grin and a coffee in hand. "Didn't expect to see you again. Figured you'd be off ruining someone else's beverage by now."
Jace gave a small smile. "I try to keep it to one victim per day."
She laughed. "Fair. I'm Kyra, by the way."
"Jace."he hesitated at first.
"Nice to meet you properly, Jace. So....what are you?" she gestured toward the camera, "photographer or enthusiast with a very expensive hobby?"
He tilted the camera in his hands. "A little of both."
"Huh," she said, intrigued. "What do you take pictures of?"
Jace looked out the window. "Things that stay still. Mostly."
"That's… deep and a little depressing."
He laughed softly. "Yeah. That checks out."
"I owe you a new coat." he added.
"It's vintage. You can't replace vintage"
"Well can I atleast send you money for laundry?"
"Calm down big guy...you look like you got alot of money but it's fine....it's nothing....it happens more often than you think". She said and sips her coffee.
"But if I get coffee on my jeans this time, I'm suing." she added.
He chuckled. Just a little. It was the first real sound of lightness from him in over a week.
They didn't talk the entire ride. Just here and there. She asked about the photos. He told her about the cracked mural, the lonely tricycle. She nodded like she understood.
When the train screeched to her stop. "Well....this is me".
"Oh...." He said.
She stood, then turned back briefly. "Try not to spill anything else today, okay?"
He nodded.
But something about the way she said it light, unassuming, warm stayed with him long after she stepped off.
Back at the Studio
The silence met him at the door, as it always did. But today, it didn't weigh as heavily....maybe because of the pictures he took or the fact he left the studio that day.
He dropped his bag gently,removed the memory card from his camera but instead of rushing to his laptop as usual,he paused.
He hadn't felt like developing it before. But tonight, maybe it'd anchor him.....let him have something else to do rather than think about Amy.
He stepped into the small, windowless room behind the shelves.....his darkroom. His sanctuary. The world outside didn't exist in here. Just paper, light, chemicals, and time. The red light flicked on.
He moved putting his gloves on. He filled the developer tray and began work.
As the first image slowly emerged under the red glow, he watched in silence. It was a shot of a fire escape, the iron shadows slicing across the alley wall like ribs. Another of that broken fence, catching a shaft of dying sunlight.
The photos weren't stunning but they were alive.
Gritty. Present.
He moved from tray to tray, developing each frame like coaxing a heartbeat from silence.
By the time he hung the wet photos to dry,his hands stung faintly from the chemicals, but he didn't mind. It felt real.
He stepped back, arms folded across his chest, and looked at the line of prints swaying gently above him.
Among them, one stood out. The.... You Are Here picture.
He believed it held a message for him.... for anyone at all that wanted to feel seen.
He stood back and let the silence fill the space again.
Maybe his life didn't make perfect sense right now.
But the pictures…
They spoke for him.
They always had.