The Photographer Who Forgot How To Smile

It was a quiet day, just like any other. I was getting ready for work at “The Shadow Publishing House”. When I stepped outside, the wind hit my face, making me feel alive and full of energy. I started walking toward the office, greeting everyone I met along the way. I liked walking more than sitting alone in the car. I liked seeing faces, talking to people, catching their smiles. Everyone smiled back except one man. A street photographer.

I had seen him before, many times. In the park, by the lake, in the mall, but always by coincidence. He clicked pictures of random things, people, and places. But he never smiled. Never! I wondered why. I told myself he probably had his reasons. I started walking.

When I arrived at the office, something felt wrong. Everyone seemed sad. My manager called me into his cabin and told me the news: my photographer and friend, Kevin, had been in an accident.

I ran to the hospital. Kevin lay there, broken and pale. I held his hand. “I’m sorry, Benita. I can’t work on the project anymore”, he said quietly.

I told him not to worry. “Just get better, I can manage”, I said.

Before leaving, he asked me to pick up some photos from a nearby studio that were needed for the project. I agreed.

While waiting at the studio, I thought about the project to complete it. For that, I needed a good photographer. Suddenly, I was attracted by a photo. It was a beautiful, breathtaking photo ready to be packed and shipped. I asked the shop owner about the photographer and explained my requirements to him. “His name is Jeff”, the shop owner said. He gave me an address.

I went there. And then I realized something, I knew him. He was the same photographer I had seen so many times around the city.

“What do you want? Why are you here?” he asked sharply.

I explained everything: Kevin’s accident, the project, and my deadline. He listened but said one word: “Not interested.”

I left, disappointed. How could he not understand? This was a dream project. It couldn’t happen without good photography.

The next day, I went back to his house. I pleaded. I begged. Finally, he agreed.

We started working together. We traveled all over the city, finding hidden talents, interviewing them, and showcasing their work. I loved it because my project gave them recognition, money to improve their craft, and a chance to be seen.

Jeff worked from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. every day. He didn’t talk much. Even during lunch, he ate quietly. And still, he never smiled. But there was something about him that drew me in. He always bought extra food and gave it to people on the streets. He lived only off the money he made selling his street photography to galleries. His kindness, his quiet way of caring for others, made me admire him more than I expected.

One day, Jeff asked for a break. Most of the work was done, so I agreed. I had some time to finish the editing myself. I went to a quiet park, which was under maintenance. The workers were off for the day, and only the watchman was around. I finished my edits, closed my laptop, and began walking.

Then I heard crying. A man, crying in despair. I followed the sound, quietly.

I saw him. It was Jeff. Kneeling in front of a small grave. I didn’t call out. I just watched. After a while, he stood up and turned to leave. I was confused. Who had died? Why was he here?

The watchman came by. “Do you know him?” he asked.

“Yes, He works with me, but I don’t know anything else”, I said.

“He comes here every year on this day. He cries for at least two hours”, the watchman said.

I needed to know whose grave it was. I walked closer.

On the headstone, there was a photo of a young woman named “Daisy Jeffrey”. I understood. She must have been his wife. I needed to know the story.

That evening, I went to Jeff’s house. He was drinking, heavy with grief. My heart ached for him. I understood the pain he carried, as I had lost my parents in an accident before my eyes.

I sat next to him. He had been crying so much that his face looked swallowed in sorrow. His eyes were red. I held his hand. “It will be okay,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “Nothing will be okay. She’s gone. My happiness, my life, my wife… my unborn child. All gone because of me and my selfishness.”

I rubbed his shoulder and said, “Share with me what happened. It will ease your heart.”

He began telling what had happened.

“I met Daisy in art college. She was an artist, and I was studying photography. We dated for three years before getting married. Back then, I worked in a studio, but my real passion was travel photography. I loved exploring new places, capturing landscapes, and chasing the perfect shot. Because of that, I spent very little time at home. But Daisy understood me. She always supported my dreams and stood by me whenever I felt discouraged.

When our first anniversary came, she gave me a gift wrapped neatly and told me, ‘Open this after two days.’ As her gift, she wanted me to spend the entire day with her as her anniversary wish. But that same week, I was selected for a major photography competition by a famous editorial company. The deadline was in two days.

If I were the winner, I would be placed in my dream company. For that, I needed to take the photos that very day.

To balance her wish and my work, I asked her to come with me. But she didn’t want to travel. She wanted a peaceful day at home, but I kept asking. In the end, she agreed, though only half-heartedly.

We went to a mountain to capture the top view of a well-known waterfall. I parked the car downhill because the road didn’t continue. I told her to wait in the car, but she refused. She didn’t want to be alone again, like every other day. So she climbed with me.

The path was steep, narrow, and filled with cliffs, but we managed to reach the top and take the photo I needed.

On our way back, everything changed in a moment. Daisy suddenly fainted and slipped on the slanted cliffside. Before I could grab her, she rolled down, hitting rocks as she fell. I ran behind her, carried her to the hospital as fast as I could… but the doctors said she had too many internal injuries. She didn’t survive.”

Back home, I found her gift—inside, a camera lens, a positive pregnancy test, a letter. She had been carrying our child.

Her letter read:

“ I love you so much, Jeff. I admire your photography—it’s truly a gift from God. You’re not just a talented photographer, you’re a good husband too. Sometimes I feel your absence deeply, and I know you feel it too, even if your work keeps you from fixing it. While missing you, I wander through the places we spent time together. You should know… we are three now. I’ve kept this a secret until you finished your competition. I hope you capture a beautiful photo and get the job you’ve always wanted, so you can work without worries and be with us. All the best for your project. Love always, Daisy"

When he finished reading her words, he was utterly broken as every piece of his world had collapsed at once.

Jeff carried the guilt from that day. He wandered alone to places they loved, photographing them, seeing only her face in the lens as a result of guilt.

I hugged him gently and said, “It was an accident. You did not mean to hurt her. You cannot change the past. You must move on.”

He said he would try.

The next morning, while Jeff was sleeping, I delivered his photos to his dream company. The MD was impressed and agreed to give a good posting in his company.

I returned with the appointment letter. I gave it to him. He hesitated. I reminded him of a quote I loved:

"Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life." — J.K. Rowling

I told him, “Use your pain to build happiness. Your wife would want that. And so do I.”

He accepted the job. I also finished my journalism project successfully. We thanked each other. I saw happiness in his eyes, but no smile.

Days passed. I asked him one day, “What will make you smile?”

“Stay with me, you gave me my lost happiness. Only you can make me smile. I no longer see Daisy through the lens of my guilt. I feel her peace, and I know she would be happy for me”, he said.

“Will you be with me always?” he asked.

“Yes, I love you too”, I said.

Now, we have been married for six months. Today was his birthday. I had prepared a special surprise. I waited at the door. When he arrived, I told him to close his eyes and led him into the living room. When he opened his eyes, he smiled for the first time in years. His eyes filled with happy tears.

I had hung our baby’s ultrasound scans from the ceiling. He looked at each one, joy shining on his face.

“Yes, I’m pregnant”, I whispered.

“I got my lost child through your love. I am the happiest man in the world”, he said.

I hugged him tightly.