TINY MIA

It wasn’t the first time he had caught you on a date with someone else since the two of you had broken up. This happened to be the third time. You had managed to stumble across him on a date twice, and you could curse the city that you lived in for being so small. It also didn’t help that you frequented the same places, even before you were together, so it was almost inevitable to run into one another.

“Is this how you expected your night to end, hm?” Harry spoke directly into your ear as his fingers plunged in and out of your soaked cunt. “Did you think it would be me touching you this way, or were you hoping it would’ve been him?”

You rolled your lips into your mouth to keep from making a noise in response to his interrogation. To be honest, the date had been lackluster, so you knew it wouldn’t have ended with either of you offering to take the next step.

“Not going to answer me?” Harry clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, starting to withdraw his fingers, but you quickly reached down to wrap your hand around his wrist while holding his eyes. “You don’t get them if you’re not going to talk to me. If you’re not going to play along.”

“This isn’t some fucking game, Harry,” you snapped with a shake of your head. “This has to stop. We can’t keep doing this with each other.”

His dark chuckle caused goosebumps to break out along your skin as he leaned down to press a kiss against your bare shoulder, considering both of you were completely naked. Both sets of clothing lead a trail from the front door to Harry’s bedroom.

“I don’t think you mean what you’re saying.” He let his digits enter you completely again before curling them against the spot inside of you that he could find without hardly any effort. “If you did, you’d pick places for your dates that would cause you to avoid me. You wanted to see me tonight. Admit it, baby.”

His mouth covered your own as his thumb swirled over your clit that was slick with your arousal, and you moaned while reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. Harry quickly captured both of your wrists in his large, free hand, and he pinned them above your head so you weren’t able to touch him.

“I hate you,” you whimpered against his lips, and that drew another laugh from him.

“No you don’t. Not in the slightest. You still love me. This drippy, little pussy still loves my fingers and my cock. I think you hate that, but you don’t hate me.”

Harry didn’t give you a chance to protest as his tongue slipped between your lips, gliding it right against yours. You arched into him, your toes curling considering you were right on the brink of your orgasm. Your walls pulsed around his fingers, a direct sign that you were about to burst, but clearly, he had other plans.

“I hate you,” you repeated through clenched teeth when Harry actually took his fingers away from you this time.

“You miss me,” he taunted, as if he were correcting you.

A yelp flooded from your lungs as he quickly turned you over on the mattress so that your face was smushed into his pillows. He maneuvered you around, and put you right in the position that he wanted while reaching out to bind your wrists again with his hand. He positioned them along your lower back and slightly tugged, causing your back to bow.

His other hand wrapped around his hard cock, and he tapped the tip against your clit a few times before rocking his length back and forth through your slit.

“You’re teasing,” you panted as you tilted your chin down just a bit to get a better look at him.

Hunger and jealousy swirled in Harry’s eyes as he stared at you. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. “You’ve been teasing me for months since we broke up.”

“You’ve been doing the same. It’s all we ever fucking do.”

“Sounds to me like we’re going about this all wrong then.” He notched the head of his dick against your entrance before starting to push in. “We should try to find a solution, don’t you think?”

The stretch of him was blinding, and it caused your eyes to roll into the back of your head. Your fingers curled, resulting in your nails biting into the skin of your palms as your body opened up for him - just like it always did.

“What…what do you suggest?” He already had you breathless, and he wasn’t even fully inside of you yet.

“That we stop fooling ourselves. Stop running from each other. Our breakup was mutual, so why can’t we mutually agree that it was a mistake?” Although he had been so cocky tonight, you could hear how sincere he was in this very moment. “I don’t want anyone else but you, Y/N, and it’s pretty obvious you don’t want anyone else but me. We’re meant to be. Always have been.”

You knew he was right. More often than not, your thoughts journeyed to him when you were home alone. You wondered if he was with someone, or if he was alone, too. You hoped he was taking care of himself, and not forgetting his lunch at home like he used to until you started putting a post-it note on his keys when you’d spend the night - reminding him to grab it before leaving.

He consumed your mind more than you’d like to admit, but from the words Harry had just spoken, it sounded as if you had consumed him just the same.

“That’s what you want?” Your voice was strained as he bottomed out inside of you, and you felt the hand not restraining you pull your cheeks apart so he had a better view of you swallowing up his cock.

“It’s what I’ve wanted since the first time I saw you with someone else other than me. Seeing you with those other men, Y/N, it did something to me. I know I had no right to be a jealous bastard, considering you weren’t mine anymore, but fuck if that wasn’t what I became.”

“Then why keep this up? Why did you keep going on dates knowing that the next time you’d see me out, you’d have me in your bed?” Tears started to well up in your eyes, but you wished them away.

“I guess…I figured if you were determined to try and move on, then I deserved to do the same. I kept coaxing you back into my bed because if that’s the only way you’d let me have you, only for another night, then it’s what I would take just to be close to you again.” Harry’s lips sponged along your spine before he grazed his teeth at the junction where your neck met your shoulder.

His length dragged backwards against your walls before he was angling forward again, filling you delishly. Your mouth practically watered at the sensation, and you had to remind yourself that you were in the middle of a conversation.

“Then m-maybe we should try again.”

“Don’t say that just because you pity me.” The teasing tone of Harry’s had returned. “If you’re offering for us to get back together, you need to want it, too.”

“I do!” You exclaimed as he started up hard thrusts, his headboard banging against the wall. “I want to get back together. I don’t want to see anyone else anymore but you.”

Harry let go of your wrists, only to now collar your throat with his palm, and he brought your body up so that his chest was snug against your back. He kissed right below your ear before bringing his lips to the shell of it. “Then let me remind you what it’s like to be fully mine.”

• • • • •

You sighed quietly, shaking your head at yourself before pulling Jennifer's order instead…It was the fair thing to do.

First in, first out.

Your father had drilled that into you when you were barely tall enough to see over the counter.

“People trust you with their memories, treat every envelope like it's the most important one in the room”

You stared at Jennifer's camera for all of three seconds, then, with a guilty glance around the empty department, you quietly switched the two envelopes.

"...Sorry, Dad."

It wasn't like anyone would notice….It would only take a few extra minutes.

You slipped Harry's disposable camera into your hands and disappeared through the swinging door.

.

The familiar routine settled your mind almost immediately.

Gloves. Lights off. Red safe light glowing faintly overhead.

The plastic shell cracked open beneath the small opener revealing the tightly wound roll hidden inside. You carefully pulled the leader free, clipped it into the processor, and watched as the machine swallowed the film inch by inch.

Then... You waited for some minutes and the processor chimed.

The strip of negatives emerged warm from the dryer, each tiny frame glowing amber beneath the inspection light.

No scratches.

No light leaks.

Beautiful.

You fed the negatives into the scanner, the computer humming softly as it began pulling each image onto the screen.

The first photograph appeared.

A mountain overlook.

The horizon stretched endlessly beneath a pale morning sky, the edges of the frame washed in the unmistakable softness that only disposable cameras seemed capable of creating.

Next.

A coffee mug balanced on the hood of an old Jeep.

Next.

The golden retriever.

Of course.

He was soaking wet, tongue lolling out of his mouth as someone just outside the frame tried and clearly failed…to get him to sit still.

A smile tugged at your lips.

"Hi, buddy." You didn't know the dog's name…you'd considered making one up more than once.

The next image loaded.

Harry sat on the edge of a wooden dock, his feet dangling over the water. He wasn't looking at the camera. Instead, he was doubled over laughing, one hand pressed against his forehead as if whatever had just happened was too ridiculous to recover from.

You found yourself leaning closer to the screen.

What happened?...

Had someone fallen into the lake?....

Had the dog stolen somebody's sandwich?...

Had one of his friends told an awful joke?....

You'd never know.

The camera had frozen that fraction of a second forever…but everything surrounding it,the sound, the voices, the reason behind the laugh…had vanished the moment the shutter clicked.

The next frame answered nothing.

Just the dock.

Empty now.

You almost laughed to yourself, whoever had been taking the pictures clearly wasn't interested in documenting places, they were documenting moments.

A crooked shot of someone sleeping in the passenger seat. Half a campfire. Two pairs of muddy boots. A deck of cards scattered across a picnic table.

None of them were technically good photographs,most people would've deleted them without a second thought, but that's what you loved about film…nobody took disposable cameras to capture perfection, they took them because something had felt worth remembering.

You caught yourself wondering, not for the first time, what it must feel like to have that…To have people who showed up in every roll of film, to have traditions that repeated often enough to become familiar, to have somewhere that looked so unmistakably like home.

You lingered on one photograph longer than the others, Harry was looking directly at whoever stood behind the camera. Not at you…At them.

His smile wasn't particularly big, just soft and comfortable, the kind of smile you gave someone who already knew you.

Your chest tightened unexpectedly…you wondered what it was like to be the person standing on the other side of that lens.

To be the reason someone smiled like that.

The scanner beeped.

Twenty-seven photographs.

Twenty-seven tiny windows into a life you only knew in fragments.

You exhaled slowly before beginning to sort the prints into neat stacks.

You shouldn't have favorites.

Your father would've hated that you developed his rolls first and he probably would've scolded you for staring at the photographs a little too long, too.

.

The familiar scent of developer clung to your clothes as you pushed through the swinging door, Harry's sealed envelope tucked neatly beneath your arm, you glanced toward the front registers and immediately slowed.

Gale. The store manager.

He was standing near the photo counter with his hands tucked into his pockets, scanning the department with an expression you couldn't quite place.

Your stomach dropped.

Uh-oh.

Managers didn't wait around the photo lab, not unless someone had complained or something had gone very, very wrong.

He looked up when he noticed you "There you are!"

You instinctively glanced around the counter "...Did I mess something up?"

A small smile crossed his face "No…you got a minute?"

.

His office overlooked the receiving docks at the back of the store, you'd only been inside a handful of times, usually for yearly evaluations or mandatory training.

He motioned for you to sit and remained standing for a moment, opening a manila folder before quietly closing it again.

He sighed "I got a call from corporate this morning…"

You immediately knew.

"They're restructuring all in-store photo departments…"

Your heart sank

"What does that mean?"

"It means..." He chose his words carefully "Starting next month, this location won't be processing film anymore…We'll still print digital photos. Passport pictures. Canvas prints. Things like that." 

He paused "But the film lab....is closing."

You blinked at him and your voice came out quieter than you expected.

"...Closing?"

He nodded.

"They're removing every processing machine from stores nationwide."

The words barely registered.

You thought about the machine humming quietly in the room behind yours.

The enlarger. The dryer. The processor. The inspection light.

Every scratch on those counters. Every stain left by developer over the last twenty years. Every lesson your father had taught you standing beside them.

"I..." You swallowed "I grew up on those machines"

Gale looked at you sympathetically "I know."

"My dad taught me how to develop film on them” Your eyes drifted toward the office window as though you could somehow see through the walls into the little lab "I've been using that processor since I was thirteen!"

Then an idea struck.

Suddenly.

"What happens to them?"

"The machines?"

You nodded quickly.

"They'll be auctioned off to liquidation companies."

"...Could I buy them?"

The question left your mouth before you had time to think it through.

He hesitated "I actually asked…"

Hope flickered and then disappeared just as quickly….

"The processor alone is just under twenty-three thousand dollars…"

Your face fell.

"The scanner is another eight" He glanced down at the paperwork "The printer's around five…."

Your shoulders slumped "Oh"

"I'm sorry."

You let out a humorless little laugh "Yeah..."

You hadn't expected them to be cheap.

But you'd imagined maybe...a few thousand? 

Something impossible, but dream-worthy.

"The other thing I need you to do..."

You looked down. Bright orange signs.

PHOTO LAB CLOSING

ALL DISPOSABLE CAMERAS 50% OFF

ALL FILM 50% OFF

FINAL SALE

"I need everything marked by the end of today” He continued. "And starting tomorrow, we can't accept any new film orders."

You frowned.

"...What about the cameras people already bring in?"

"We'll finish every order already in the system."

"And after that?"

He shook his head "We'll direct customers to the nearest independent lab"

The words hurt more than they should have.

"I know this is hard."

You nodded "I'm losing my job…it is hard"

"No"

That pulled your attention back to him.

"We've already approved your transfer"

"...Transfer?"

"You've got enough seniority to choose" He flipped through another sheet.

"Customer Service, Electronics,Front End,Online Pickup and you'll keep your pay and benefits."

You stared at the list….none of it felt right, none of it smelled like developer, none of it hummed softly while negatives dried overhead, none of it had your father in it.

"So basically I can still buy discounted chicken…." you said without thinking and looked back at him “sorry…i’m…glad i can keep my job”

Your eyes remained fixed on the fluorescent orange signs spread across his desk, in a few hours...you'd be the one taping them to the counter.

The same counter where your father had taught you how to load your first roll of film.

The same counter where people had trusted you with birthdays, weddings, road trips, first steps, last Christmases! The same counter where, just that morning, Harry had smiled and said,

"I'll see you Thursday"

Your throat tightened. Thursday. He had no idea that by the time he came back...Everything would be different.

.

The rest of your shift passed in a blur.

Gale carried the first stack of clearance boxes over to the photo department while you stood behind the counter, staring at the fluorescent orange signs in your hands. They felt heavier than paper had any right to.

PHOTO LAB CLOSING.

ALL DISPOSABLE CAMERAS 50% OFF.

ALL FILM 50% OFF.

FINAL SALES.

You peeled the backing off the first piece of tape and pressed the sign against the glass display that held the disposable cameras. Then another went on the photo printer. Another on the counter. Another beside the pickup shelf. The bright orange paper clashed horribly against the faded Kodak displays that had been there longer than you had.

Every sign you taped up felt like another nail in the coffin and by the time you reached for the last one, your hands had started to shake.

"...Hey."

Victor's voice was quieter than usual.

You turned to find him frozen in the middle of the aisle, a shopping basket hanging forgotten from one hand. His eyes bounced between you and the signs, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

"...What’s going on?"

"They're closing the lab."

His face fell almost instantly "What?"

"Corporate."

"When?"

"Two weeks"

He walked over without saying another word, taking one of the orange signs from your hands before pulling you into a hug.

You stiffened for a second, surprised, before your shoulders slowly relaxed.

"I'm so sorry" he murmured.

You swallowed hard "It'll be okay..."

"No" he said honestly. "It won't…Not for a while."

That almost made you cry.

Victor pulled away just enough to look at you. "They know this is... your dad's place."

"I know."

"They can't seriously think moving you to self-checkout is the same thing."

You let out a small, humorless laugh. "They're offering Electronics, too…"

"Oh, well, in that case" He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Nothing says preserving family legacy like explaining HDMI cables to dads"

Despite everything, you laughed.

"I also asked if I could buy the machines."

Victor's eyebrows lifted hopefully "Aaaand?"

"They're over thirty thousand dollars."

"...Oh, big number"

"Yeah"

He sighed through his nose before squeezing your shoulder.

"We'll figure something out….”

.

Thursday came much faster than you wanted it to.

Every morning that week had started the same way: coffee, your grandmother wishing you a good day, and another hour spent scrolling through online marketplaces looking for used processors, researching commercial loans, reading articles about independent photo labs that somehow survived the digital age.

None of it led anywhere, you couldn't stop thinking about those machines…about your father standing beside them with chemical stains on his hands and about every lesson he'd ever taught you.

It couldn't end with a liquidation sale.

By the time Thursday afternoon rolled around, the orange signs had become part of the department. Customers constantly stopped to ask questions.

"Where am I supposed to get my film developed now?" "Nobody develops disposable cameras anymore?" "That's a shame."

You smiled politely through every conversation, inside, each one felt like another reminder that something irreplaceable was disappearing.

You were reorganizing the discounted cameras when the familiar chime above the counter rang.

You didn't look up immediately.

"Hi, welcome to—"

Your words caught in your throat.

Harry, he didn't smile right away.Instead, his eyes caught on the signs.

He stopped walking.

His gaze drifted from the giant PHOTO LAB CLOSING banner taped across the counter to the half-empty display of disposable cameras, then to the bright orange 50% OFF stickers plastered over nearly every shelf.

His brow furrowed.

He looked back at you.

"...What's all this?"

You'd answered that question at least thirty times over the past few days.

Somehow, this was the only time it felt difficult….

You forced a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

"We're closing."

Harry blinked "...What?"

"The photo lab" You gestured vaguely around the tiny department "Corporate's shutting down all the in-store film processing"

For a moment, he simply stared at you "As in...all of it?"

You nodded "All of it"

His expression shifted from confusion to genuine disappointment.

"...This place has always been here"

"I know"

Silence settled between you.

Then, instead of asking where he'd have to get his film developed next...

He looked back at you.

"So....What happens to you?"

You shrugged, trying to make it sound smaller than it felt. "I get transferred"

"Transferred where?"

"I haven't decided yet...." You let out a quiet laugh. "Customer Service. Electronics. Online Pickup... basically anywhere they need another employee."

Harry frowned "Do you want that?"

The answer came far too quickly.

"No"

He studied your face for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to ask the next question "What would you want?"

You looked through the small window into the darkroom. The processor was running another customer's roll, humming away like it had every day for the past twenty years.

"I'd keep this"

"The lab?"

You nodded.

"My dad taught me everything in there" A small smile tugged at your lips "I practically grew up breathing chemicals"

He smiled faintly "I remember you telling me."

"I asked if I could buy the machines..."

"And…"

"The processor alone costs almost twenty-three thousand dollars."

His eyebrows shot up.

"The scanner's another eight. The printer's around five."

"...Jesus."

"Exactly…so unless I suddenly win the lottery..."

Your sentence trailed off.

"You could open your own lab” he said suddenly

“That's not exactly cheap either" You counted on your fingers absentmindedly. "Rent, insurance, ventilation, dark room…it adds up really fast"

He nodded slowly, "Right."

"I could probably set up a room at my grandma's house, where my dad's old lab used to be in the garage. I already have some of the chemicals I need at home, and I'd just have to buy a decent printer. But I'd also need developing tray… blackout covers for the windows so there aren't any light leaks... so yeah, I'd have a lot to figure out….developing film is really the only thing I know how to do" 

"So..."He rested his elbows on the counter. "...hypothetically"

You tilted your head.

"If you did have the equipment..."

"I could do it."

"No problem?"

You almost looked offended…."I've been doing this since I was thirteen, I don't need Walmart to know how to develop film."

"You just need..." He gestured vaguely "...everything else."

"Pretty much."

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke.

Harry looked down at the disposable camera display, now nearly empty after four days of clearance sales. His fingers absentmindedly tapped against the countertop.

Then his eyes lit up with a thought.

"...Wait...could you still do mine?"

You blinked.

"My film...I don't really want to take it somewhere else."

You stared at him.

"I know that's probably a weird thing to ask..."

"No, it's just..." You smiled, still a little surprised. "I wasn't expecting you to."

"I could pay extra," he added quickly. "If that's what it takes."

A small laugh escaped you.

"I guess..." You glanced toward the darkroom one more time before looking back at him. "I could probably set up something at my grandma's house. At least temporarily."

His face brightened almost immediately.

"Really?"

You nodded.

"It'd be tiny. Definitely not anything like this." You gestured around the lab. "But if I could find a printer... maybe."

"What about the chemicals?"

"I have some"

"And the space?"

You smiled to yourself.

"My grandma has an old laundry room in the back of the house." A soft laugh left your lips. "Though she'd probably have a heart attack when she realized the whole place was going to smell like developer again."

"Again?"

"My dad used to process film at home before he worked here."

Harry smiled.

"So she'd survived it once."

"Barely." You laughed. "She spent years complaining that every towel in the house smelled like fixer."

He chuckled with you before his expression grew thoughtful.

"I can help."

You blinked.

"Help?"

"If you decide to do it."

He shrugged as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I've built shelves before. I know my way around tools. If the room needs work, better ventilation, or even replacing a few windows..." He smiled. "I'd be happy to lend a hand."

For a second, you simply stared at him.

"I couldn't ask you to do that."

"You didn't." He folded his arms against the counter, his smile never wavering. "I'm offering."

"But..."

"You've been developing my film for almost a year." His expression softened. "Seems only fair I return the favor."

A quiet laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

"We barely know each other."

Harry laughed too.

"Maybe…" He shrugged. "But I know enough."

You tilted your head.

"I know your name. I know you make terrible jokes every time I forget to use my flash." He counted on his fingers "I know you somehow remember every customer that walks through here, and..." he added with a small grin, "...I'm pretty sure you know that I go through disposable cameras faster than any normal person should, SO, you should know a lot more about my life than most of my coworkers"

You smiled knowingly.

"Maybe I know a little."

"See?" he said. "We're getting somewhere…"

The two of you laughed, and for the first time in days, the knot that had settled in your chest loosened just enough for you to breathe…then Harry looked at you with the same warm expression he always seemed to wear whenever he walked up to your counter.

"Let me help"

You searched his face, trying to understand why someone you'd only ever known from opposite sides of a photo counter was so willing to give up his time for you.

Before you could ask...

He answered the question himself.

"That's what friends are for…" He smiled. "We are friends... aren't we?"

Before you could answer, a familiar voice cut in from the aisle behind you.

"Oh thank God!!"

You closed your eyes….Victor.

He appeared around the corner carrying a box of printer paper dramatically balanced on one hip.

"I was beginning to think I'd have to renovate her grandma's house myself."

Harry turned, momentarily confused while Victor walked straight up to the counter as if he'd been invited into the conversation the entire time.

"You must be Harry."

Harry blinked. "...Yeah."

Victor stuck out his hand. "Victor."

Harry shook it."Pleasure"

"The pleasure's aaall mine"

You sighed "Victor..."

"What?" he asked innocently "I'm introducing myself."

"You've literally never spoken to him before"

"I've admired him from afar"

Harry let out a surprised laugh.

Victor pointed at him "There it is…."

"...What?"

"That smile" He looked over at you "I get it now."

"Oh my God Victor!!"

"I'm just saying!" He turned back to Harry. "If I looked like you, I'd smile all the time too!"

Harry laughed "I don't even know how to respond to that."

"You don't have to" Victor waved a dismissive hand "I flirt with everyone…It's part of my job."

"There is no part of your job that involves flirting with customers” you said almost laughing

"There should be"

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost hurt.

"So..." Victor continued, leaning against the counter. "I hear we're building a darkroom at Grandma's house"

"We're not" you said immediately

"We might" Harry corrected with a small smile

Victor gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest.

"Ooooh, I like him."

"Victor."

"What? He's optimistic."

He looked back at Harry.

"And yes, obviously you're helping."

Harry chuckled "I volunteered."

"As you should."

Victor nodded approvingly before turning to you.

"And you're saying yes."

"I haven't said anything."

"You don't have to." He gave you an exaggerated look before flicking his eyes toward Harry and then back to you "This is going to be so much fun and for the record, if we're building stuff and sweating, I expect pizza."

"You weren't invited."

"I invited myself, just call me…seriously" and with a wink he disappeared

Harry watched him disappear before turning back to you, still smiling.

"...Is he always like that?"

You let out a long sigh.

"Unfortunately."

The two of you shared another laugh before your eyes suddenly widened.

"Oh my God!"

"What?"

"You came here for your pictures."

Harry looked down at the empty counter and laughed.

"I did, didn't I?"

"Hold on."

You disappeared into the pickup shelves, running your finger along the alphabetized envelopes until you found the yellow Kodak packet.

Styles, Harry.

You slid it from the shelf and returned to the counter, placing it carefully in front of him.

"Twenty-seven prints."

He picked up the envelope with the kind of anticipation you'd come to recognize over the past year.

"Any spoilers?" he asked with a grin.

You smiled. "I technically can’t inspect customers' pictures…"

"Worth a shot."

"I'll never ruin a surprise."

"I know."

He tucked the envelope safely into his tote bag, treating it with the same care he always did.

"So promise me…"His tone was light, but there was something sincere underneath it.

"If you decide to do this..." He gestured toward the darkroom one last time. "...or even if you just need another pair of hands..." He smiled "You'll call."

You looked at him for a long second….It would've been easy to brush it off or o tell him not to worry, or, to say you'd figure it out yourself. Instead...

"Okay."

His eyebrows lifted "Okay?"

"I promise."

The smile that spread across his face was impossibly warm.

"I'll be waiting for that call."

"I'll try not to keep you waiting too long."

"You'd better not."

You watched him turn toward the automatic doors, the yellow envelope tucked safely beneath his arm.

Just before he disappeared into the flow of shopping carts and weekend customers, he looked back over his shoulder.

"Bye, friend."

The word caught you off guard.

You smiled anyway.

"Bye, Harry."

.

The drive home felt longer than usual, maybe because your mind refused to settle.

Every red light became another opportunity to calculate numbers that didn't add up. You mentally measured the laundry room behind your grandma's house, wondering if there was enough space for shelving, drying racks, trays. You tried to remember how much plumbing your dad had needed when he developed film from home years ago.

Then there was the smell.

Your grandmother had never exactly been fond of that part.

You smiled to yourself.

"Margaret," your dad would always tease. "That's not chemicals, that's the smell of memories."

"Well, memories can stay in the garage!" she'd answer every single time.

By the time you pulled into the driveway, your stomach had tied itself into a knot, the porch light was already on, casting a warm glow over the flower pots your grandmother insisted on replacing every spring.

The front door opened before you even reached it.

"There you are..." your grandmother smiled, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "I was about to call you."

"Sorry, traffic."

"I made pot roast"

Your heart sank just a little…of course she'd made your favorite.

Now you definitely had to tell her.

Dinner passed mostly in comfortable silence, the television humming softly from the living room while she told you about Myrtle's grandson getting accepted into college and how the tomatoes in the garden were finally starting to ripen.

You tried to listen….You really did, but your fork mostly pushed carrots around your plate.

Your grandmother noticed.

"Bunny."

You looked up.

"What's wrong?"

You sighed..

"They're closing the photo lab….they told me some days ago"

The room went quiet.

She set her fork down.

"...Closing?"

You nodded.

"Corporate's shutting down all the film processing."

"When?"

"Two weeks or so"

"Oh, sweetheart..."

"They're taking the machines" The words caught in your throat all over again.

Your grandmother reached across the table, resting her hand over yours. "I know how much those machines mean to you…"

"There might be... one idea..." She tilted her head "I was thinking..."

You looked toward the back window, where the old laundry room sat just beyond the garden.

"...maybe I could turn the laundry room into a little darkroom."

Your grandmother blinked "The laundry room?"

"It'd only be temporary!” You rushed the words out "Just until I can figure something else out. I know it'd probably smell, and I'd have to move a bunch of things around, and if you don't want me to, I completely understand…"

"Bunny."

You stopped talking.

She smiled. "You thought I was going to say no?"

You laughed nervously "...Maybe?"

She shook her head. "Oh, honey"

She reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, just like she had when you were little. "Your father would've loved this..."

You felt your throat tighten "He would've?"

"He spent half his life trying to convince people that film wasn't dying." She chuckled softly. "You remember what he'd always say?"

You smiled through the sting behind your eyes.

"People don't stop wanting memories."

"They just forget how special it is to wait for them" your grandmother finished.

The two of you smiled at the memory.

"He'd be so proud of you."

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it "I'm not doing anything yet."

"No" She squeezed your hand again "But you're trying."

You looked at her.

"Most people would've accepted the transfer and moved on."

"I almost did..."

"But instead..." Her eyes drifted toward the backyard. "...you're trying to keep a piece of him alive."

You looked out the window too.

The laundry room wasn't much, peeling white paint, one tiny window, a crooked wooden door and an old utility sink that probably hadn't been used in years.

But suddenly...It didn't look so small.

"You know…" your grandmother said, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips, "it'll probably smell awful."

You laughed, wiping at your eyes "It definitely will."

She sighed dramatically "I suppose I'll survive, but if that little room gives people the same joy your father did..." She stood, collecting the empty dinner plates "...then I think I can learn to love the smell of memories"

"Good morning, Bunny," your grandmother said warmly.

"Morning, Grandma," you replied with a sleepy smile

"Already heading to work?" she asked, pouring a mug of coffee before sliding it across the table toward you.

"Yeah. I'll bring home the discounted chicken tonight."

"Sounds lovely, Bunny. Have a good day." She handed you a peach on your way to the door. "I'll be at Myrtle's house for most of the day."

"Okay"

You smiled softly as you watched her leave, the screen door creaking shut behind her.

Your grandmother had taken you in after your father passed away a few years ago. What had started as an undetectable infection in his lungs had stolen him within weeks…and you barely remembered your mother. When you were five, she'd boarded a bus headed somewhere you never learned, and she never came back. After that, it had always been just you, your father, and your grandmother—the woman who practically raised you while your dad worked long hours…

Your father developed film for a living.

He started in a tiny photo shop downtown before eventually landing a job at the photo counter inside a Walmart, back when disposable cameras still had a place in people's lives. You grew up behind that counter as much as you did at home, surrounded by the smell of developing chemicals and stacks of yellow Kodak envelopes.

Your childhood existed on film.

Birthday parties. Christmas mornings. Toothless smiles. School recitals. Every milestone preserved on glossy paper before it was tucked into family albums.

While other kids learned to ride bikes or play instruments, you learned exposure, negatives, enlargers, developer baths, fixer, timing, and light. You learned how to hold a strip of film without leaving fingerprints, how to spot an underexposed frame before it reached the printer, and how every photograph carried a tiny story.

By the time you graduated high school, college wasn't an option. There simply wasn't enough money.

You worked as a waitress for a while, picking up every shift you could, until your father got sick. When he no longer had the strength to stand behind the photo counter, you stepped in to help.

Then, after he was gone...

You never really left.

Now, every morning, you unlocked the little photo lab tucked between Electronics and the Pharmacy, one of the last places in town where people still went to develop their film

. You flipped on the lights, the soft hum of the fluorescent bulbs filling the tiny photo lab as it came to life.

Like every morning, you settled into your routine.

Register on.

Computer on.

Photo printer.

Film processor.

You checked the day's pickups, sorted the envelopes into alphabetical order, wiped down the counter, and finally propped up the new promotional sign your manager had insisted on.

FREE PHOTO DEVELOPMENT AFTER FIVE ROLLS.Ask about our loyalty card.

"Ohhh we've got discounts over here now?" Victor said, leaning against the counter as he snapped his fingers dramatically.

"Apparently it was a marketing decision" you replied with a quiet chuckle "Want to sign up for a loyalty card?"

He pressed a hand to his chest "Darling, I'm flattered, but the last thing I know how to do is take a good picture, i was meant to be in front of the camera"

A laugh escaped you. "Aren't you supposed to be up front? like…for real?"

"It's barely eight in the morning. Nobody's coming in for—"

The overhead intercom crackled to life before he could finish.

"Victor to the front of the store. Victor to the front of the store."

You looked up with an innocent smile "Have fun."

Victor groaned dramatically as he pushed himself off the counter.

"I don't get paid enough for this place"

"You've been saying that for three years"

"And yet somehow it's still true"

You laughed as he disappeared around the corner, the store falling quiet once again.

. You looked up from the stack of pickup envelopes to find a woman in her early forties juggling three things at once, a giant insulated water bottle tucked under one arm, an oversized tote bag threatening to spill over, and a disposable camera pinched carefully between two fingers.

Her ponytail was slightly crooked, there was a smear of sunscreen across one cheek, and she wore a bright green soccer mom sweatshirt despite it being almost eighty degrees outside.

You smiled instinctively.

"Good morning."

"Hi!" she breathed, already sounding exhausted. "Can you develop one of these?"

She placed the yellow Kodak disposable camera on the counter as if it were something precious.

"Of course."

You picked it up, turning it over in your hands out of habit.

The flash had already been used.

The advance wheel refused to turn.

"Looks like you've finished the roll."

"Oh, thank God," she laughed. "My son had three soccer tournaments this weekend and I think I took every single picture with that thing."

"I'll take care of it."

You reached beneath the counter and grabbed one of the familiar yellow processing envelopes.

"Name?"

"Jennifer Collins."

You wrote it carefully across the top.

Phone number. Date. One roll of 35mm disposable film. Standard development. Four-by-sixes. Expected pickup: three business days.

"You'll get a text as soon as they're ready."

"Perfect."

You handed her the receipt and Jennifer waved before disappearing into the endless aisles of the store. Once she was gone, you slipped the disposable camera beneath the counter into the tray labeled TO BE PROCESSED.

By noon, the tray held six cameras.

Three disposable Kodaks.

One Fuji.

Two rolls of professional 35mm film sealed inside black plastic canisters.

When the morning rush finally slowed, you pulled on a pair of powder-blue nitrile gloves and disappeared behind the swinging door marked PHOTO LAB — EMPLOYEES ONLY.

The room was barely larger than a walk-in closet.

Metal shelves lined the walls, stacked with bottles of developer, bleach, fixer, and stabilizer. The air carried the faint chemical smell you'd grown up with, sharp enough that most people wrinkled their noses, but to you it smelled strangely comforting. Like home.

You switched off the overhead lights until only the tiny red safe light remained.

Film hated light.

One careless second could erase an entire vacation.

Working almost entirely by touch, you cracked open a disposable camera with a small metal opener. The plastic shell popped apart with a familiar snap, revealing the tightly wound roll hidden inside.

Carefully, you pulled the film leader free and clipped it onto the machine's loading tab before feeding it into the processor.

Years ago, your father had done every step by hand, dunking negatives into trays of chemicals one after another.

Now the machine handled most of the work.

The film slowly disappeared inside with a soft mechanical hum.

Developer. Bleach. Fixer. Wash. Dry.

The process took a little over twenty minutes.

Long enough for you to restock photo frames, ring up a customer buying batteries, and answer two questions about passport photos.

When the processor finally beeped, you returned to the lab.

A warm strip of negatives emerged from the dryer, hanging like a tiny ribbon of memories.

You held it carefully against the inspection light.

Tiny squares.

Tiny lives.

You checked each frame for scratches, light leaks, dust, or overlapping exposures before feeding the negatives into the scanner. One by one, the images bloomed across your monitor in surprisingly vivid color.

Jennifer hadn't exaggerated.

Soccer fields stretched across nearly every frame.

Children in oversized jerseys chased soccer balls through muddy grass.

Orange slices during halftime.

A team huddle.

One little boy grinning proudly while holding a plastic participation trophy.

A blurry picture of a golden retriever that had apparently wandered onto the field.

You smiled despite yourself.

There was something wonderful about ordinary lives.

Moments people thought were too small to remember.

.

The cheerful chime of the service bell echoed through the back room. You pulled your gloves off with a sigh, setting the strip of freshly developed negatives onto the drying rack before pushing open the swinging door that separated the lab from the counter.

"I'll be right there!"

As you rounded the corner, you already had your customer-service smile ready.

Then you saw him.

Harry.

He was standing exactly where he always did, one hand resting on the counter while the other absentmindedly rolled a disposable camera between his fingers. A worn canvas tote bag hung from one shoulder, and the sleeves of his faded forest-green sweatshirt were pushed up to his elbows. His curls looked slightly flattened on one side, as though he'd spent the morning wearing a baseball cap, and there was a pair of sunglasses hooked into the collar of his T-shirt.

He looked... familiar.

Not because you'd ever spent more than five minutes talking to him, but because he'd been coming to this counter for almost a year now. Once every month, sometimes every six weeks, he'd walk in carrying one, occasionally two, disposable cameras, drop them off with the same easy smile, buy fresh ones, thank you by name, and disappear back into the world until the next roll was full.

Most regular customers developed pictures of birthdays or holidays.

Harry developed his life. Road trips. Cabins.

Coffee shops you'd never heard of.

Sunsets from places you couldn't name.

Friends who looked impossibly close, always laughing at something outside the frame.

The same golden retriever that seemed convinced every couch in existence belonged to him.

A little blue house with ivy climbing around the porch that appeared often enough for you to recognize it instantly….

His photographs never felt posed. Half of them were crooked, overexposed, blurry around the edges, or caught someone in the middle of laughing. Somehow, those always ended up being the best ones.

Over the months, you'd unknowingly started piecing together tiny fragments of his life. Not enough to know him. God, not even close. but enough that when he walked through those automatic doors, your brain quietly filled in the blanks.

He liked camping. He drank his coffee black. He traveled whenever he could. He had a dog that hated sitting still for pictures.

And judging by the amount of birthday candles and Christmas dinners you'd developed over the past year... he had people. Lots of them.

A full life.

The kind that fit effortlessly inside disposable cameras.

You blinked yourself back into the present when he smiled.

"Hi."

"Hi" you answered, returning the smile without even realizing it. "Sorry about the wait."

"No worries" He lifted the little yellow camera between his fingers. "Finished another one."

You glanced at the disposable camera before meeting his eyes again.

"I figured."

He set the disposable camera on the counter, watching as you picked it up and turned it over in your hands, checking that the advance wheel had stopped.

"Looks like you got all twenty-seven."

"I always do." He grinned. "I hate wasting frames."

You laughed quietly as you grabbed one of the yellow envelopes.

"Name?"

"Harry."

"Last name?"

"You still have to ask?"

"It's procedure."

He let out a small laugh before answering anyway.

As you scribbled everything down, he leaned his forearms against the counter, looking around the tiny photo department.

"You've been here a while now."

Your pen paused for half a second.

"Almost three years."

"Really?"

You nodded. "Time flies when you're surrounded by disposable cameras."

He smiled to himself.

"Did you always want to do this?..."

It caught you completely off guard, not because it was an invasive question, because it was the first question he'd ever asked that wasn't about prints, pickup dates, or whether the flash had worked.

For a moment, you simply looked at him, and then you shook your head with a small smile.

"Not exactly."

He waited.

"My dad worked here before I did."

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

"He developed film?"

"Yeah." you said while your fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the envelope. "He'd been doing it since before digital cameras took over. First at a little photo shop downtown, then here." You smiled faintly, the memory warming you despite yourself. "I practically grew up behind this counter."

"So you learned from him?"

"Everything”" you chuckled softly "I think I knew what fixer smelled like before I learned long division."

That earned a genuine laugh from him "I can believe that."

"He used to let me hand him the negatives after they came out of the processor" You shrugged. "Eventually he trusted me enough to run the whole thing myself"

Harry's smile softened. "Where is he now? Retired?"

The question came gently, genuinely out of curiosity.

You glanced down at the counter for a moment. "He got sick."

Silence settled between you.

"It happened pretty fast" You swallowed. "An infection in his lungs. By the time they figured out what it was..." You offered a small, resigned smile. "...there wasn't much they could do"

"Oh...I'm sorry."

There was no awkwardness in the way he said it. No rush to fill the silence.

Just two simple words, spoken like he actually meant them.

You nodded "Thank you."

"He'd probably be happy you're keeping it going."

You looked around the little photo lab, the aging machines, the shelves full of chemicals, the faded Kodak posters that hadn't been replaced in years. "I hope so."

For a second, neither of you spoke.

"Well..." A crooked smile tugged at his lips. "I'm glad you're still here."

You blinked, It was such an ordinary sentence, so casually said, and yet something about it settled warmly in your chest.

Before you could think of a response, he reached toward the display beside the register.

"I'll take two more."

You looked over to find him holding up a pair of disposable cameras.

"You've got another trip planned?"

His grin widened "Maybe"

There it was again…that little bit of mystery but never enough information to satisfy your curiosity

You rang up the two disposable cameras, sliding them into a paper bag before handing it across the counter along with his receipt "Your film should be ready by Thursday."

"Perfect."

Harry tucked the cameras into his tote bag before flashing you that same easy smile he always wore.

"I'll see you then"

"You will."

He gave you a small wave as he turned, disappearing into the bright maze of grocery aisles. You let out a quiet breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

"He's gone now, right?"

You didn't even have to look up.

Victor.

He leaned dramatically over the counter, following Harry's direction."Jesus Christ."

You rolled your eyes."What?"

"That man."

"What about him?"

Victor looked at you as if you'd just asked what color the sky was.

"He's offensively attractive!"

A laugh escaped before you could stop it.

"Oh, please"

"No, seriously." He pointed toward the grocery aisles. "Those curls? The smile? The whole 'I'm effortlessly cool' thing?"

You shook your head, trying and failing not to smile. "He's just nice"

"Exactly" Victor snapped his fingers. "That's what makes him dangerous"

"I don't think nice is dangerous"

"It is when you're built like..." He gestured vaguely toward where Harry had disappeared. "...that"

You laughed again, shaking your head as you tucked the receipt book back beneath the register. Victor watched you for a beat before narrowing his eyes.

"...What?"

He leaned closer. "That smile"

"I smile at everyone."

"No" He wagged a finger "Customer-service smile? Totally different..."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I do" He crossed his arms triumphantly. "The second Pretty Boy walks in, your face changes"

"My face does not change"

"It absolutely does"

You busied yourself straightening a stack of photo envelopes, refusing to look at him.

"You get this..." he waved his hand around your face, searching for the right word "...soft look"

"I don't"

"You smiled before he even said anything"

"I was being polite"

Victor snorted "You weren't smiling at Soccer Mom like that"

You opened your mouth but then closed it. "...That's because she told me about her son's soccer tournament"

"And Harry tells you he filled another camera…."

"Which is relevant to my job Vic"

"Mhm" Victor nodded with mock seriousness. "Whatever helps you sleep at night"

You sighed dramatically. "He's just a regular customer, I literally don't know anything about him"

Victor raised an eyebrow "No?"

You shook your head. "No"

He smiled knowingly "That's funny."

"...Why?"

"Because from where I'm standing..."

He nodded toward the swinging door that led back into the photo lab.

"...you look an awful lot like someone who's looking forward to seeing whatever's on that roll"

Your cheeks warmed instantly.

Victor caught it and his grin grew impossibly wider "Oh my God."

"Don't."

"You do have a little crush."

"I do not have a crush.

"You have a Kodak crush"

"I'm going back to work and you should too!"

Victor laughed as you pushed through the swinging door

"You can't hide in the darkroom forever!"

"Watch me!" The door swung shut behind you, muffling his laughter.

You leaned against the cool metal shelf for just a second, shaking your head at yourself

Ridiculous.

It wasn't a crush. It couldn't be.

He was simply the customer whose life passed through your hands once a month, twenty-seven frames at a time.

Nothing more.

...Right? PART 2