Aera had taken 214 photographs that month.
She knew because she had counted them.
Not intentionally.
It had simply happened.
Her camera folder was becoming crowded.
Rain on windows.
Old streets.
People waiting for buses.
Hands holding grocery bags.
Children running through puddles.
The bakery sign.
The river.
The hidden garden.
The school courtyard.
Daewon drawing.
Daewon sleeping on his desk once.
She had deleted that one.
Mostly because she was afraid he would find out.
On Tuesday afternoon, she sat in the photography club room and looked through the images one by one.
Han Sora sat across from her.
"You've improved."
Aera looked up.
"Really?"
Sora nodded.
"You've stopped trying to make everything beautiful."
Aera wasn't sure whether that was a compliment.
Sora continued.
"You're letting things be ordinary."
Aera looked back at the screen.
"I think ordinary things are beautiful."
"I know."
Sora leaned forward.
"But you're still hiding."
Aera's finger stopped on the trackpad.
"How?"
"You photograph other people."
"Yes."
"You talk to them more now."
"Yes."
"You ask permission."
"Usually."
Sora smiled.
"But you still don't let the camera see you."
Aera became quiet.
Sora pointed at the screen.
"Every photograph has a distance."
Aera looked at the images.
"What's wrong with distance?"
"Nothing."
Sora folded her arms.
"But sometimes the person behind the camera is the most important person in the photograph."
Aera didn't answer.
She thought about Daewon.
He had begun putting himself inside his drawings.
She had noticed.
Perhaps that was why the conversation bothered her.
She was still standing outside the frame.
After school, Aera walked toward the river.
She brought her camera.
She didn't bring Daewon.
She wanted to think.
The river path was quiet.
A few people were jogging.
An elderly couple walked slowly together.
A father pushed a bicycle beside his daughter.
A young woman sat on a bench reading.
Aera raised her camera several times.
Then lowered it.
She had photographed places like this hundreds of times.
What was different now?
She sat on a bench.
The camera rested beside her.
For several minutes, she did nothing.
Then someone sat beside her.
It was an elderly woman.
She carried a cloth shopping bag.
"Cold today."
Aera nodded.
"Yes."
The woman looked at the camera.
"Photographer?"
Aera smiled.
"Student."
"Same thing."
Aera laughed softly.
The woman looked across the river.
"Do you take pictures of people?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you take pictures of old people?"
Aera hesitated.
"Sometimes."
The woman smiled.
"Then take one."
Aera looked surprised.
"Of you?"
"Why not?"
Aera lifted the camera.
Then stopped.
"Are you sure?"
The woman nodded.
"Yes."
Aera took the photograph.
One.
She lowered the camera.
The woman smiled.
"That's it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't want to make you pose."
The woman laughed.
"Good."
They sat quietly again.
After a while, the woman said, "My husband hated photographs."
Aera turned toward her.
"He always looked away."
"Why?"
"He said photographs made people think they could keep time."
Aera smiled.
"Do you agree?"
The woman looked at the river.
"No."
She paused.
"I think photographs remind us that we can't."
Aera remembered the words.
She didn't write them down.
She simply listened.
When she returned home, she printed the photograph.
The woman was sitting beside the river.
Her expression was calm.
Her hair moved slightly in the wind.
The river behind her was blurred.
It was one of Aera's favorite photographs.
She placed it beside her desk.
Then she looked at it again.
Something bothered her.
She opened her camera.
She set it on the desk.
Then stood in front of the mirror.
She lifted the camera.
Lowered it.
Lifted it again.
She hated the idea.
Not because she disliked photographs.
Because the moment she stood in front of the camera, she couldn't control what the image would say.
She understood suddenly.
That was why she preferred being behind the lens.
Behind it, she could choose what mattered.
In front of it, she had to trust someone else.
She thought about Daewon.
He had trusted her with hundreds of small moments.
Sleeping.
Drawing.
Laughing.
Walking.
Being nervous.
Being quiet.
She had seen him when he wasn't trying to be seen.
Maybe she owed him the same.
She took out her phone.
She sent one message.
Aera: Are you free tomorrow?
The reply came quickly.
Daewon: Yes.
She stared at the screen.
Then typed:
Aera: I need your help with something.
His response arrived.
Daewon: What happened?
She smiled.
Aera: Nothing bad.
A few seconds later:
Daewon: Then what?
She typed.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Finally:
Aera: I want you to take a photograph of me.
She stared at the message after sending it.
No reply came for almost a minute.
Then:
Daewon: Okay.
Another message appeared.
Daewon: But I don't know how.
Aera smiled.
Aera: Neither do I.
The next afternoon, they met near the hidden garden.
Daewon carried his sketchbook.
Aera carried her camera.
"You really want me to do this?"
She nodded.
"Why me?"
Aera looked toward the garden.
"Because you're the person I trust most."
Daewon became quiet.
She immediately looked away.
"Don't make it weird."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm just thinking."
"Don't."
He laughed.
"Okay."
They entered the garden.
The old bench was still there.
The cat appeared from beneath the bushes and stared at them.
Aera smiled.
"Even he knows."
Daewon sat down.
"Knows what?"
"That I'm nervous."
The cat walked away.
Daewon laughed.
"He's judging you."
"He's always judging."
Aera placed her camera in Daewon's hands.
He held it carefully.
"What do I do?"
"Just look."
"At you?"
"Yes."
"Through the camera?"
"Yes."
"That feels strange."
Aera smiled.
"Now you understand."
He lifted the camera.
She stood beneath the old tree.
For a moment, neither moved.
Daewon looked through the viewfinder.
He didn't see the girl from the blue umbrella.
He didn't see the photographer.
He didn't see someone trying to create a perfect image.
He saw Aera.
The person who laughed at bad jokes.
The person who remembered strangers.
The person who kept old photographs.
The person who always noticed when someone was alone.
The person who had slowly become part of his ordinary days.
He lowered the camera.
"Wait."
Aera looked confused.
"What?"
"Your hair."
"What about it?"
"It's covering your face."
She fixed it.
Daewon lifted the camera again.
This time, he took the photograph.
Click.
Aera walked over.
"Let me see."
He showed her.
She stared.
The photograph wasn't perfect.
The light was uneven.
The background was slightly messy.
Her expression wasn't posed.
She looked almost surprised.
But she liked it.
"That's me."
Daewon smiled.
"Yeah."
She looked at him.
"You didn't try to make me look different."
"No."
"Why?"
He thought about it.
"Because I don't think you need to."
Aera looked at the photograph again.
Then quietly said, "Thank you."
Daewon lowered the camera.
"You're welcome."
She took it back.
Neither said anything for a while.
The wind moved through the trees.
The cat jumped onto the bench.
Aera laughed.
"He's ruining the moment."
Daewon opened his sketchbook.
"He's part of it."
"Then draw him."
He did.
That evening, Aera printed the photograph.
She didn't put it in her public collection.
She didn't submit it to the exhibition.
She didn't even post it anywhere.
She placed it inside the dark blue sketchbook Daewon had given her.
On the next page, she wrote:
The first photograph I trusted someone else to take.
She closed the book.
Across town, Daewon sat at his desk drawing the same afternoon.
He drew the garden.
The tree.
The bench.
The cat.
And Aera.
But this time, he drew himself too.
Two people standing on opposite sides of a camera.
One learning how to be seen.
The other learning how to look.
And somewhere between them was the quiet understanding that growing closer wasn't always about seeing more of each other.
Sometimes it meant allowing the other person to see you clearly.