🎞 | GL/WLW

Bada was a whirlwind, a force of energy who turned every moment into a memory. Wherever she went, her polaroid camera went with her. It wasn’t just a hobby; it was how she saw the world—through fleeting snapshots of the moments she never wanted to forget.

The walls of your shared apartment were littered with these photos: blurry pictures of sunsets, candid shots of you laughing, even one where she surprised you mid-yawn. Polaroids filled every corner, tucked into books, stuck on mirrors, or pinned on the fridge. They told your story, piece by piece.

You remember the day she pulled you into the rain, drenched and spinning under the gray sky. She didn’t say a word—she didn’t need to. Instead, she snapped a picture of you mid-laugh, the rain streaking down your face, and tucked the polaroid into her jacket pocket like a precious secret.

Now, as you sit by the windowsill, flipping through a stack of pictures she’d left on the table, you can’t help but smile. Each photo is a frozen memory, a tiny piece of your life together. And when she walks in, camera slung over her shoulder, she grins.

“Another one for the collection,” she says, snapping a picture of you in that moment, sunlight casting a warm glow across your face.