🔴 THE PHOTOGRAPHER SAID “SMILE” — THEN I SAW MY DEAD BROTHER IN THE LENS
I flinched, nearly knocking over the tripod — the air conditioning was blasting and my skin felt clammy.
“Easy there,” he said, adjusting the light, “Big day, huh?” It was my wedding day, supposed to be the happiest day, but all I could smell was the cheap lilies my mother insisted on. She kept saying, “He’s here in spirit, darling.” I wanted to scream.
Then the photographer muttered something under his breath, fiddled with his lens. “Okay, now… focus. Smile.” I did, forcing the corners of my mouth upwards. But in the reflection, caught in the glass, standing right behind me, was Finn. My brother. Finn, who died in a car accident five years ago. Wearing the same stupid band t-shirt he always wore.
My breath hitched. I blinked. He was gone. The photographer, oblivious, kept snapping away. “Beautiful! Okay, one more!” But all I could feel was the cold dread creeping up my spine.
Suddenly, the photographer lowered his camera, looking directly at something behind me, his face drained of color.
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“Did you… did you see that?” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the hum of the AC. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, but past my shoulder, his eyes wide, fixed on something I couldn’t see. I spun around, my veil catching on a chair, heart hammering against my ribs. There was nothing there. Just the floral arrangements, the wall, the empty space I knew Finn had occupied seconds before.
“See what?” I managed, my voice trembling.
He lowered his camera completely, running a hand through his hair, leaving it a disheveled mess. “A… a flash? A shadow? Just behind you, I swear. For a split second, it looked like someone was standing there.” He shook his head vigorously, as if trying to clear it. “Must be the light. Or… or maybe the heat? Getting to me.”
But I knew it wasn’t the light or the heat. It was him. Finn. I could still feel the residual chill in the air where he had been, a faint echo of his presence. Tears welled up, hot and sudden, but I blinked them back fiercely. The photographer was watching me, concern etched deep on his face. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
A ghost. Yes. “I… I’m fine,” I lied, hugging myself tightly. “Just… a bit overwhelmed. Big day, like you said.”
He gave me a sympathetic look, but his gaze kept darting nervously to the spot behind me. “Look, how about we take a five-minute break? Get some water?”
I nodded, grateful for the reprieve. As he stepped away to put his camera down, fussing with his equipment with shaky hands, I turned back to the empty space. “Finn?” I whispered, the name barely a breath. There was no answer, no visual confirmation, but the heavy, suffocating feeling of dread began to lift, replaced by a quiet, familiar ache in my chest. It wasn’t terror anymore, but a profound, bittersweet sorrow, softened by the strange, inexplicable comfort of knowing he was still *here*, somehow.
He wasn’t haunting me. He wasn’t trapped. He was just… visiting. Seeing me off, perhaps, before I stepped into this new chapter of my life. A single lily on the table seemed to shimmer faintly for a moment, catching the light in a way that felt significant. I took a shaky breath, the scent no longer cheap and cloying, but simply… present. It wasn’t the wide, joyful smile the photographer wanted, but a genuine, melancholic smile touched my lips. It was okay. He was okay. And I was going to be okay, too. I wiped a tear from my cheek, smoothed my veil, and turned towards the door, towards my future, carrying the memory of my brother not as a ghost in the lens, but as a quiet, enduring love in my heart. He had seen me smile. That felt like enough.