Ephemeral Echoes, Velvet Touch

The city bled grey outside the cafe window – a perfect match for the ice in my veins before *he* walked in. Another assignment, another face to capture, not dissect with a hungry gaze.
He needed a portfolio, said he was 'finding his light.' A ridiculous line, but it cracked something open in the frozen wasteland I'd become since… well, since everything shattered. Each click of my shutter felt like a confession, and each shared smile chipped away at the carefully constructed walls around my heart.
His eyes – molten chocolate – lingered too long when he collected his prints, fingers brushing mine. Static electricity. A shockwave through years of self-imposed isolation. He didn’t know it then, but I was no longer photographing a stranger; I was documenting the slow burn of something dangerously close to hope.
Now, every shadow holds his ghost, and this city – once a monument to my solitude – screams with the phantom echo of a touch I barely allowed myself to crave. The lens focuses on emptiness because that’s all I've known for too long... until *him*. Until the heat.

Editor: Plasma Spark