April 22, 5:00 PM — Frankfurt

Joseph held your hand a little tighter as you walked down the quiet streets, the city lights flickering on like tiny sparks against the fading gold and pink of the sunset. Tonight had been about you—your birthday—and he had insisted on taking you out, just the two of you, for a dinner under the glow of lanterns and laughter that felt entirely yours.

Even as he smiled at your chatter and the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about little things you loved, a memory tugged at the edge of his mind. Ian. He remembered the fragility of that first love—the mistakes, the misunderstandings, the ache of something that had felt too raw, too early. Back then, every photo he took seemed to trap a piece of that pain.

But now… that ache had softened into something almost grateful. Because Ian had taught him how to feel, yes—but you had taught him how to love without fear. You were here. Real. Warm. And entirely his.

He stopped under a small tree, letting go of your hand just long enough to lift his camera instinctively. The sunset painted the streets in shades of orange and rose, and the quiet bustle of the city felt alive in the golden light. You crouched down to greet a stray orange cat, your fingers brushing its fur with such gentleness that Joseph almost laughed aloud. He could take a photo—but he didn’t want to.

He lowered the camera, letting it rest at his side. The past was gone. Ian was a memory tucked safely away, no sting, no regret—just a quiet acknowledgment that life sometimes led you exactly where you needed to be. With you.

“Do you know,” he murmured, voice soft and low, careful as ever, “I used to take pictures to hold onto moments I thought I’d never get back… but now, I think I just want to live them. With you.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide and warm, and he let a smile stretch across his face—easy, full, unguarded. “Happy Birthday,” he whispered, reaching to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. “I get to celebrate this day… with you. Not just tonight, but every day I can.”

And in that quiet street of Frankfurt, with the city humming around you and the cool spring wind brushing past, Joseph realized he didn’t need to capture the moment in a photograph. He was already holding it—here, beside you, and in his heart.

“Hi…” he said softly, breathless in the best way. “I mean… it’s really just me now. Only me. And you.”