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𓃮Inayah's pov 𓃮
I stare at the picture in my hand like it's holding something I should've never forgotten.
I don't know why I took it, I found it yesterday, stuffed under some old papers while looking for that letter. I didn't even mean to grab it..I just did. Slipped it inside my sweatshirt pocket like some guilty thief.
Now, sitting here, the sun barely peeking through the curtains, I hold it like it's something sacred, or cursed. Maybe both.
My eyes scan the edges first, looking at its faded color. The corners are soft and bent, there's a tear on one side, like someone once tried to rip it up but stopped halfway through.
My eyes stay glued to it, I haven't even flipped it around yet. I'm just staring at the back. There's a faint pen mark in the corner..its the year it was taken in. I trace it with my thumb as my hands feel cold, fingers numb.
I tell myself it's just a photo.
But I know better.
I don't remember picking it up, I don't remember making the choice to keep it. But something about it... something made my pulse stutter when I first saw it, like a whisper I wasn't ready to hear.
Now I press the picture between my palms, then slowly turn it over.
It's blurry, not the image but my memory. The photo itself is clear enough, though time has dulled the colors. The room in the picture looks warm.
Golden.
A cake with candles, two kids but my eyes lands on the girl.
Me, standing right there, a younger version of myself, maybe eight? I remember the expression i was holding before the picture was taken, I was upset.
But he made me laugh.
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But it's not just me in the picture.
There's someone else, A boy. About my age.
Sitting next to me. Watching the cake like he doesn't belong there.
