Chapter 10
412words
A European charity had announced a major medical supply donation to the region, complete with glossy promotional photos. During field visits, Lena and Liam discovered these supplies never reached civilians—they'd been resold by a local warlord for weapons.
They risked everything gathering evidence. Liam photographed the arms deal with a telephoto lens while Lena interviewed brave local doctors willing to speak out.
Their report, released through secure channels, caused an international uproar. The charity's reputation crumbled, and a week later, a UN-supervised aid convoy finally reached the besieged city.
That day, the entire city celebrated. Lena and Liam stood atop the supply truck, watching joyful faces below—exhausted beyond measure yet filled with unprecedented satisfaction.
"Thank you, Lena," Liam's profile gleamed golden in the sunset as he turned to her, eyes filled with pure joy. "Before you, I was just a recorder. Your stories gave my photos a soul—turned them into weapons and battle cries."
He paused, his voice dropping to something like reverence:
"You gave my lens a conscience."
Lena's heart hammered like artillery. She quickly ducked her head, pretending to fix her windblown hair, but couldn't hide her flushed ears.
Liam was the first person who truly saw her.
During one shoot documenting a suicide bombing's aftermath, Lena maintained a blank face—calmly directing camera positions, recording every detail with machine-like precision. A European journalist whispered nearby: "Look at her—like a robot, completely emotionless."
That evening, when everyone else had retired, Liam found Lena sitting alone on a pile of rubble, cleaning her lens.
Without speaking, he handed her a water bottle and sat beside her.
"They all think you're cold-blooded," Liam said suddenly.
"My job requires composure," Lena replied without looking up.
"No," Liam shook his head, his voice soft yet clear in the night breeze, "you're not cold-blooded. You're using your viewfinder as a shield."
Lena's hands froze mid-motion.
"You hide behind the lens," he continued, "because when you see the world through that small rectangle of glass, everything becomes less real. Pain stays at a distance. You can tell yourself you're just an observer, not a participant. That way you feel safe."
She'd never told anyone this feeling, yet this man—like some soul-reading wizard—had exposed her deepest secret with a few simple words.
"What do you know?" she snapped, like a cat with a pinched tail.
"I understand," Liam's voice carried bitter amusement, "because I once hid behind shields too."
