Through the Lens

Elliot ran his fingers along the edge of his camera, feeling the cool metal and the subtle curves of the buttons he had memorized. He lifted it to his face, angling it carefully, even though he couldn’t see the world through the lens. He hadn’t seen anything since he lost his sight at nineteen, but that hadn’t stopped him from capturing moments. He relied on sound, touch, and intuition — and he trusted his instincts.

But some things couldn’t be captured. Like her laugh.

He first heard it at a seaside café in Lisbon, where the air smelled like salt and roasted coffee. The sound bubbled up, light and free, cutting through the hum of conversations and the distant crash of waves. It made his heart skip.

She sat at the table next to him, narrating the view to her phone as she recorded for her blog. Her words painted vivid pictures — sun-drenched cliffs, fishing boats bobbing in the harbor, the sky blushing pink as the sun dipped lower. He listened, enchanted by her voice, until he couldn’t resist speaking.

“Are you a writer?” he asked, turning his face toward her.

She hesitated, then laughed. “A travel blogger. I try to bring places to life with words and photos. How did you guess?”

“I could hear it,” he said, tapping his ear. “You describe things like they’re stories.”

“I guess I do.” She shifted, the scrape of her chair against the stone floor. “I’m Lily.”

“Elliot.”

They talked until the café closed, and then she walked him back to his hostel. It was the first of many nights like that. She guided him through winding streets, describing the world with a poet’s heart. He photographed what he felt — the warmth of cobblestones beneath his fingers, the scent of blooming jasmine, the way the air shifted as they approached the ocean.

They traveled together, hopping from country to country. She became his eyes, and he became her anchor. She taught him to trust her vision, and he taught her to slow down, to savor moments instead of rushing to capture them.

One evening in Santorini, they sat on a rooftop, the air tinged with the scent of grilled fish and sea spray. She described the sunset, her voice catching as she spoke of the gold streaks melting into lavender waves. He held his camera up and clicked the shutter, not knowing what the image would show but trusting it held the feeling.

“Why do you still take pictures?” she asked, her fingers brushing his.

He turned the camera in his hands. “Because I want to remember. Even if I can’t see them, the photos hold memories.”

Her fingers laced through his. “What do you remember about me?”

He smiled. “Your laugh. The way your voice changes when you talk about a place you love. The way your hand feels when you guide me.”

Her voice softened. “I wish you could see how beautiful you make everything sound.”

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, the gesture saying what words couldn’t.

But love, like travel, wasn’t without turbulence.

In Paris, Lily got a message from a magazine editor who wanted her to lead a solo travel series — a year-long contract that would take her across continents. She didn’t tell Elliot right away. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him, but she couldn’t bear to stay and resent him either.

He noticed her distance, the way her descriptions grew shorter, her voice less steady. One night, after they’d returned to their tiny rented apartment, he asked her what was wrong.

She hesitated, then confessed. The offer. The opportunity. Her fear of abandoning him.

Elliot’s heart fractured. He wanted her to take the job, but the thought of waking up without her voice guiding him through each day felt like losing his sight all over again.

“You should go,” he said, voice tight. “This is your dream.”

“But you’re my dream, too,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks.

They parted at the train station, her hand lingering in his until the last possible second. Elliot stayed in Paris, wandering the streets with his camera, feeling more lost than he had in years. He stopped taking photos. The world without Lily’s voice felt muted, colorless.

Months passed. Lily’s blog flourished, her stories more vivid than ever, but every post felt hollow. She wrote about jungles and deserts, but never about love. Her heart remained in Paris, with the boy who took pictures of things he couldn’t see.

One evening, back in Lisbon for a short break, she found herself at the same café where they’d met. Her chest ached as she sat at their old table. She pulled out her phone to record a voice memo, but her words failed her.

“Lily?”

Her head snapped up, and there he was — Elliot, standing with his cane, his face tilted toward the sun.

Her breath caught. “What are you doing here?”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a photograph. It was blurry, the horizon tilted, but the colors were unmistakable — the Santorini sunset, all gold and lavender.

“I finally developed the film,” he said, holding the picture out to her. “I wanted you to have it. So you’d know I still remember.”

She took the photo, her hands shaking. “I never forgot you,” she whispered.

Elliot stepped closer, his voice rough. “I don’t want to just hear about the world. I want to hear it with you.”

Her laugh bubbled up, choked with tears, and she threw her arms around him. He held her like he’d never let go, breathing her in like she was air.“I’m done running,” she said, voice muffled against his chest. “I just want to be wherever you are.”

Elliot smiled, feeling the world click into place.

“Then we’ll find the world together.”