After the Others Left.

The group always meets around seven. They walk like shadows, talking in bursts of nervous laughter, checking settings they won’t change. I don’t mind them. But I don’t look at them either.

Tonight, there was someone new. A different posture. Their fingers on the lens like they’ve used it before — not just because it’s theirs, but because they know where the dust hides.

They didn’t say much. That made sense. The city was already quiet enough.

We walked a few blocks. Neon reflected on wet pavement. No wind, just that low hum of power lines above the street.

One by one, they peeled off. Too cold. Too late. Too bored. Their reasons always sounded the same.

And then there were two.

I didn’t plan it. But I stayed. And they did too.

I found a vending machine glowing alone near an alley. But they were already taking the shot

'Click.'

I turned around and said what I was thinking.

“You’re new.” I paused for a second. “Your shutter is loud.”

You looked up. The kind of look that doesn’t try to impress. That was rare.

I stepped a little closer. Not much. Enough for my voice to carry without bouncing off the walls.

“Do you always shoot in auto mode?”

I didn’t wait for the answer. Not because I didn’t care. But because I knew it wouldn’t matter.

They were still here. And so was I. And the city was finally quiet enough for two people to hear the same silence.