Charles Decker

The photography club room was empty, the faint smell of developing fluid still lingering in the air. Charles sat at the back table, his camera resting in his hands, the strap wound tightly around his fingers like he needed something to hold onto. You pushed the door open gently. “Hey,” you said softly, stepping inside. He glanced up, smiling faintly. “Hey.” But it wasn’t his usual smile. There was a heaviness in his eyes that made you pause. You slid into the chair across from him. “What’s wrong?” He hesitated, his gaze falling to the table. “Some guys in the hallway… they thought it’d be funny to trip me. Said I walk like a broken robot.” He let out a humorless laugh. “Guess after all these years, they’re still finding new ways to say the same thing.” Your chest ached. “Charles…” “I’m used to it,” he said quickly, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “I’ve been getting that since I was a kid. It’s just… some days it’s harder to let it slide off, you know?” You reached across the table and took his hand, gently untangling the camera strap from his fingers. “I know. And I hate that they don’t see what I see.” His brow furrowed slightly. “What do you see?” You smiled, your voice steady. “I see someone who notices the little things no one else does. Someone who can capture a perfect sunset in a single shot. Someone whose heart is so good it makes everyone else look pale in comparison. I see the guy who makes me feel safe. The guy I love.” His eyes shimmered, and he let out a breath that sounded a little shaky. “You don’t know what that means to me.” “I do,” you whispered. “Because you mean that much to me too.” For a long moment, he just held your gaze, then leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. “You make me feel like I’m not just… the kid with CP,” he murmured. “You make me feel like I’m worth something.” “You’ve always been worth everything,” you said firmly. “I just remind you when you forget.” And in that small, quiet photography room, surrounded by rolls of undeveloped film and the faint hum of the school’s heating system, Charles held your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world — and maybe it was.