Chapter 9
434words
Three years earlier, on the Syrian-Turkish border. Dust, sweat, and cheap diesel fuel—Lena's first impression of this place. She was a novice documentary director then, diving into this forgotten corner of the world with a tiny grant and fierce determination.
Liam was already a legend here. A freelance photographer with two battle-scarred cameras, his images graced Time Magazine covers or traded for truckloads of medicine for refugee camps.
Their first collaboration happened at a makeshift children's clinic. Lena tried interviewing a little girl who'd gone mute after an airstrike, but the child just clutched a tattered doll, watching her with large, hollow eyes.
"You're doing it wrong," Liam leaned against the doorframe, toothpick dangling from his mouth. "Your camera's too close—all scrutiny and agenda."
Lena bristled. "This is my job."
"I know," Liam said, entering with a piece of candy from his pocket—cheap stuff with colors too bright to be natural. He didn't approach the girl, just crouched several meters away, unwrapped the candy, and popped it in his own mouth, eyes narrowing with exaggerated pleasure.
The girl's gaze finally shifted from her doll to the second candy in his hand.
Liam said nothing, just placed the candy on the ground and backed away. Minutes later, the girl cautiously crawled forward, snatched the candy, and stuffed it into her mouth. In that moment, a faint spark flickered in her empty eyes. Liam raised his camera and with a soft click, captured the instant.
Later, he sent Lena the photo with a message: "Trust is more valuable than any wide-angle lens."
They became partners—unofficial but universally acknowledged. Lena built the skeleton of stories through interviews and narrative, while Liam used his uncanny eye to capture their flesh and soul.
She quickly realized Liam's camera revealed a different world. He captured wildflowers pushing through rubble, fleeting hope on refugees' numbed faces. He never shot pure violence, calling it "cheap exploitation." Instead, he documented how people in hell preserved the last spark of humanity within themselves.
"Look," he once said, showing Lena a photograph, "this man lost his entire family in an airstrike, but the next morning, he still shared half his bread ration with the neighbor's dog."
"Why?" Lena asked, not understanding.
"Because the dog was hungry too," Liam said simply. "When someone can still show kindness after losing everything—that's an epic more worthy of documentation than any war."
Their collaboration created a perfect alchemy. Lena's scripts gained depth through Liam's images, while his photographs found heart through her stories. They became the most celebrated duo in the conflict zone.
