Through The Lens | ✓

17

Another day, another cafe.

Well, not really. It's just the same small cafe on 31st Street. 

Wednesday. An all new day, and I was so ready to take another picture of Finlay. 

After all of these days, I have figured out exactly what time he gets at the cafe, and what time he leaves. It's pretty easy, actually.

He get's there at 8:42 every single morning, never early, never late. Sits at the same table every day, but gets a different drink every time.

He leaves at 10:24 every single day, never early, never late. Leaves that table, leaves his empty mug.

And leaves me with another picture for my album.

I ordered a peppermint tea and a warm blonde brownie. A perfect mix for the chilly day it was. I took my mug and plate over to my normal table and sat down.

With my camera in my hands, I stared straight at Finlay. He was reading an all new book, of course. Oliver Twist, to be exact. I made a mental note to get that book from the library and read it.

He took a bite of the donut he had on the floral plate that sat in front of him on his table. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, and his eyes traveled back to the book. 

He looked extremely intrigued at what he was reading in the book. I bookmarked the mental note.

I squinted at the camera as I tried to get it focused on this beautiful boy. I fumbled with the zoom for a couple seconds before I got it perfect. It just had to be perfect.

Cha-ching.

The flash flashed through the whole cafe. And it all happened in slow-motion.

My camera slipped from my hands, flying through the air, right towards the floor. Finlay looked over, his hair whipping across his forehead. I gasped, and covered my mouth.

There was a thump. There was click. And there was a crack.

And worst of all, everyone was staring.

I slowly leaned down and picked up my broken camera. The screen was totaled, the lens cap was cracked, and the button that was used to take the pictures was gone. Nowhere to be seen.

And you know what else was nowhere to be see?

Finlay's picture.