The Photographer of Lost Souls

M Mehran

Every morning at dawn, Mira Lang stood on the cliffs overlooking the sea, her camera in hand. She waited for the light — that thin, trembling line between night and day — when the world seemed to hold its breath.

For years, she’d photographed the sunrise. To anyone else, she was simply an artist obsessed with light. But there was a reason behind her quiet ritual — something no one in the coastal town of Evershore knew.

Mira could see the souls of the dead.

They appeared in the first rays of sunlight — faint silhouettes standing on the horizon, looking toward a place beyond the sea.

And when she took their picture, they vanished.


---

It had started ten years ago, on the morning her brother drowned. She had been taking photos by the lighthouse when she saw him standing in the surf — smiling, waving, as though saying goodbye. Instinctively, she lifted her camera.

When she pressed the shutter, he disappeared.

The next day, his body washed ashore.

Since then, every dawn brought new faces. Some she recognized from the village — fishermen, old widows, travelers who never returned. Others were strangers. But all of them waited in silence until she captured their final photograph.

Her photos, strangely, never showed the figures. Only light. The gallery walls in her cottage were filled with hundreds of them — golden streaks, foggy horizons, pale sunrises. To others, they were art. To her, they were farewells.


---

One evening, as Mira closed her shop, a boy entered. He couldn’t have been more than ten, his hair salt-streaked, his clothes too big for him.

“You’re the lady who takes pictures of ghosts,” he said.

Mira froze. “Who told you that?”

“My granddad,” he said. “He said you helped him find Grandma. She died before I was born.”

Her heart softened. “What’s your name?”

“Eli.”

He looked up at her with bright, serious eyes. “Can you take my picture tomorrow?”

She frowned. “Why would you want that?”

“Because,” he said quietly, “I think I’m supposed to go.”

Her stomach turned cold. “Eli, what do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been feeling tired. Mama says it’s nothing, but I know it’s the same tired Grandma had before she left.”

Mira knelt beside him. “You’re not going anywhere. Do you understand?”

He only smiled. “You help people cross, don’t you? Maybe you can help me too.”


---

That night, she couldn’t sleep. The boy’s words echoed in her mind. She had never tried to stop a soul from leaving — only to send them peacefully onward. But Eli was still alive.

When dawn came, she found him waiting on the cliff, barefoot, his small figure outlined by the pink horizon.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, breathless.

“I told you,” he said softly, “it’s time.”

He pointed toward the sea. There, just above the waves, stood two shapes — a man and a woman, holding hands. The woman’s hair blew in the wind like a white veil.

“My grandparents,” Eli whispered. “They’ve been waiting for me.”

Mira’s throat tightened. “Eli, please, you can’t go yet.”

He turned to her, eyes full of peace she couldn’t understand. “You always said goodbyes are beautiful. Take my picture, Miss Mira. Please.”

Her hands shook. “If I take it, you’ll…”

He nodded. “That’s okay.”

The wind rose, carrying the smell of salt and rain. Mira lifted her camera, tears stinging her eyes. Through the lens, she saw the three of them together — the boy and the figures of light.

“Goodbye, Eli,” she whispered, pressing the shutter.

The light flashed — and he was gone.

Only the sea remained.


---

The next day, the town woke to the news: a boy had passed away in his sleep, peacefully. Mira stayed home, unable to move, unable to cry. She had helped countless souls find peace — but this time, it felt different.

She went to the cliffs that evening, camera in hand, but the horizon was empty. No figures. No light. For the first time in years, she felt completely alone.

Then she saw it.

On the sand below, someone had left a small object — a camera, old and weathered, with her name carved into the side.

She picked it up, confused. It wasn’t hers.

When she looked through the lens, the world shimmered — and there was Eli, standing beside his grandparents, all three of them waving and smiling in the golden light.

He mouthed the words: Thank you.

Mira lowered the camera, tears streaming freely now. The sea roared softly below, endless and calm.

She finally understood — she wasn’t just taking pictures of endings. She was keeping promises.


---

Years later, people still came to Evershore to see her photographs. Critics said her work captured something no one could describe — not grief, not beauty, but something in between.

No one ever noticed the faint outlines hidden in the light.

But if you stand on those cliffs at dawn, you might.

Sometimes, when the sky blushes with the first light of day, you can still hear the faint click of a shutter — and see an old woman standing with her camera, smiling toward the sea, waiting to say one more goodbye.