You sit on the edge of the park bench, watching Oliver through the golden light of the late afternoon. He’s kneeling a few steps away, camera in hand, brows furrowed in concentration as if capturing you is the most important task in the world. He always notices the small things—the way the breeze tucks strands of hair against your cheek, or how your smile shifts just before you laugh.

“Hold still,” he says softly, that familiar grin tugging at his lips. And then, just like always, he cracks a little joke under his breath—something only you can hear—that makes you laugh anyway.

The shutter clicks.