Could you write for Austin, along the lines of your favorite things is taking photos everywhere you go. Like just of yall together or of things you see. One day he makes some kind of comments that hurts your feelings and you stop taking photos. And it takes him a while to notice but when he does he feels bad for making his comment
Austin had never minded waiting while she took pictures.
Well… he thought he hadn’t.
On road trips she’d roll down the window to photograph a field of wildflowers.
At coffee shops she’d line up their mugs just right because the morning light hit the table perfectly.
She photographed sunsets, rain doaked sidewalks, bookstore shelves, strangers walking dogs, airplanes through clouds, receipts tucked into journals, half eaten desserts, his hand reaching for hers across restaurant tables.
Not posed photos. Never the “look at the camera” kind.
She caught him laughing at something on TV. Sleeping on the couch with a basketball game still playing. Reading a menu with that little wrinkle between his eyebrows. Tying his shoes before heading for practice. Looking at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.
“They’re creepy,” he’d tease.
“They’re art,” she’d argue.
“They’re me looking like a gremlin.”
Every month she’d post an Instagram photo dump.
A blurry sunset. Flowers she’d found on a walk. Her favorite meal that month.
Austin making pancakes in one picture. Austin asleep in another. Austin laughing so hard his eyes disappeared.
No captions beyond the month and a little emoji.
One Saturday they were walking through a farmers market.
She paused beside a flower stand, lifting her phone.
Austin sighed dramatically.
She smiled. “The colors are pretty.”
Then she snapped one of him holding an armful of peaches.
“I don’t know,” he said. “What exactly is your goal with all these pictures?”
She looked at him, confused.
“Yeah.” He gestured toward her phone. “You take pictures of literally everything.”
“I like having memories.”
“And…” she smiled a little. “…they’re aesthetic, I guess.”
Austin scoffed playfully.
“Seems like such a waste of time.”
The words landed harder and harsher than he bothered to notice.
“But okay i guess.” he chuckled.
He didn’t notice how quiet she’d gotten afterward.
She still carried her phone.
But she stopped reaching for it well with him anyway.
No more photos of coffee cups.
No more candid shots of him laughing.
Austin didn’t notice immediately.
Everything seemed normal.
Austin was scrolling Instagram after practice.
One of her monthly photo dumps popped up.
Flowers. A beach. Her friends. Ice cream. A concert….
Maybe she’d just forgotten.
No blurry picture of his hand.
A week later he realized something else.
She hadn’t texted him a random picture in forever.
Normally his phone was full of messages.
“Look how cute you looked today.
A squirrel stole your fry lol.
You fell asleep before the movie started.”
Enough that he brought it up during dinner.
They were sitting in her favorite Italian restaurant.
Candles flickered between them.
She was twirling pasta around her fork.
Austin cleared his throat.
“I wanted to ask something.”
“I mean… obviously you don’t have to post me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I noticed I haven’t been in your last couple photo dumps.”
“You haven’t sent me pictures of us either.”
“Oh?” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Why would I? It’s the waste of time.”
She looked down at her plate.
“Why would I post or send something I don’t have?”
She finally looked at him.
“You said it was a waste of time.” she said flatly.
“I stopped wasting my time.”
“I didn’t think you liked it.”
Her voice stayed gentle yet flat.
Austin felt physically sick.
She’d stopped because of him.
The drive home was painfully quiet.
When he walked her to her apartment door she turned to unlock it.
“I wasn’t making fun of you.”
His voice broke with nerves.
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I said something stupid.”
“I thought I was teasing.”
“But I made something you loved sound… pointless.”
“I never realized how much those pictures meant.”
“They meant everything.” she said.
Real tears filled her eyes.
“I know they’re just pictures.”
“They’re not.” he said quickly.
“They’re how I remember things.”
She pulled out her phone.
“This is the first coffee we had.”
“This is the first Lakers hoodie you stole back after I borrowed it.”
“You laughing because that pigeon chased you.”
“The first flower you ever picked for me.”
“The sunset after your playoff win.”
“You asleep holding my hand.”
“I don’t remember dates.”
“My grandma always took pictures.”
“She died when I was sixteen.”
“These are all I have left.”
She smiled through tears.
“I started taking my own.”
Austin felt tears sting his own eyes.
“I wasn’t trying to waste time.”
“I was trying to save it.”
That sentence completely broke him.
He pulled her into his arms.
She cried quietly against his chest.
“I made you stop doing something beautiful… and I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll never forgive myself if I made you think I didn’t love that part of you.”
The next afternoon there was a knock on her apartment door.
Inside was a small leather photo album.
On the cover, embossed in gold:
Every candid she’d ever sent him.
Dates written underneath in neat handwriting.
“The day we got caught in the rain.
The world’s saddest pancake.
You pretending not to notice I was taking this.”
Her hand covered her mouth.
“I saved every picture you’d ever sent me.”
She laughed through tears.
“I printed every single one.”
Austin reached into his pocket.
He pulled out something she’d never expected.
A tiny disposable film camera.
“The phone’s great and your pro cam is too,” he said.
“…we could fill this one together.”
Her eyes filled instantly.
“You want to take pictures?”
“I want to learn why you love them.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I want there to be pictures of us because I asked for them.”
“I don’t ever want you to stop collecting memories because of something careless I said.”
She threw herself into his arms.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair.
“I’ll spend however long you want making it up to you.”
“You might have to spend years and a thousand pictures.”
“I was planning on forever anyway.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
“I want to be in every photo dump.”
“And if you stop to photograph a random flower…”
He reached into the gift bag again.
This time pulling out his own phone.
He pointed it toward her.
“You took a picture of me.”
“It isn’t even centered.”
He looked at the picture fondly anyway.
“I guess that’s kind of the point.”
She leaned in and kissed him.
When they finally pulled apart, she instinctively reached for her own phone.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and rested his forehead against hers.
She looked down at the photo.
The lighting wasn’t ideal.
But it captured the exact way he was looking at her as if she’d given him something precious he’d almost been foolish enough to lose.
She saved it immediately.
The very last photo in that month’s Instagram dump was that candid.
Just a little white heart.
And Austin’s favorite picture in the whole carousel wasn’t even the one she posted.
It was the blurry, off center selfie he’d secretly snapped a minute later…her laughing at him while he tried to figure out how to use the film camera, already asking, “Wait… does this one need flash?” because from then on, he wanted to help her collect every memory they could make together.
