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We started off the day by going to the city around the campus as both of us had agreed upon. We stood at different spots to take the pictures of some buildings, or just the ornateness of the city. Comparing our shots with each other, he had less to complain about mine, but had plenty for his own and the broken lens.
He would say meekly about how my pictures were very nice, how my pictures actually came into life. But, I would just comment that his pictures were outstanding too, to not make him feel down. His pictures lacked the essence of life, he focused too much on taking a picture, not capturing the moment. My statements might sound the same but they were completely different things.
It was rather a magnificent time as two people of one passion got together interacted by doing what they loved. We were not exchanging our experiences with each other, but rather growing in sync with one another, and discovering what others people’s lens could capture. The session that we were together, charting through the depths of photography, sparked a new-found bond between us, not friends, but friends of passion.
As the night broke, we made our way back to the campus, and stopped by the rehearsing ground once more. There was a beguiling group of girls dancing on stage, wearing fishnets, tight clothes to expose most of their curves. He seemed disinterested in the girls on stage.
“Why not we do a challenge before we cap off the day?” he was in his own world but he was still paying attention to me, “If I win, we got to keep using the broken lens to take pictures, or else I would buy you a new lens.”
“Any lens?” his only question.
“Any.” I answered, he agreed, letting his over-competitive self to taste the bittersweet of defeat.
I set myself up, I did not really like the fact of taking challenges, but this would be an exception. The feelings and emotions that I had for her were different compared to other people, something special bonded between us in this mere period of time. I could not say it was love, but rather a fond between both of us, I wanted to spend more time with her, to get to know her more, but not to get strangled in a knot of awkwardness.
Our conversations, our presence clicked most of the time, so rejecting her challenge would turn awry. I did not want us to be sour that quick, I took up the gauntlet, and went full-on in this challenge. She went to her specific angle to take hers. I took mine, right in front of the stage, without scaring away the dancer. As I crouched in front of the dancer, I clicked the viewfinder as soon as I found the perfect moment, but there was none.
Jannah was standing right by me, she was clicking her way through the dance. I was perplexed on whether to take the pictures or not, the perfectionist kicked in, rendering me fruitless at the end of the challenge. I surrendered to her once we got down from the stage.
“Why didn’t you take any pictures?” I could not answer at all, “You really resemble the younger me, a perfectionist.” Those words hit me like a truck, “Clearly, you had a better shot than me, you were in a better position, a better angle, a better lighting, a better spot. Just hit the shutter release, if you are not satisfied you can always delete those photos.”
She showed me her photos, they were decent. But, her small talk was imperative to implant the savvy of imperfection in my head. We made a promise to meet tomorrow, same spot, evening, with the same lens, the broken ones.
Previously : Broken Lens #5
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