Page 34 of My Only (My First, My Last)

Shots of Hassani and I on our honeymoon.

God, we looked so happy.

Like, truly happy.

Lost in our own world.

I clicked through more photos—one of him by the pool, sketchbook in hand, of course.

I snickered, shaking my head. Not much has changed. The sketchbook was still a huge part of our life.

More images appeared…

The villa we stayed in.

The beach, in Saint Lucia, we visited every single day.

Plates of food from every restaurant we tried.

Then… clips of us kicking up sand as we ran along the beach, laughing—completely and utterly carefree.

I even stumbled upon photos of me that I had no idea Hassani had taken.

Candids.

Photos where I wasn’t posing.

Ones where I wasn’t even looking at the camera.

A warmth blossomed in my chest, spreading through me.

The rain outside pounded against the skylights, dulling the daylight into gray, but inside?

Inside, I felt sunny.

These pictures— our pictures—brought back my mother-in-law’s words from our wedding day.

“Marriage will bring you moments of joy so bright they’ll take your breath away, but it will also test you… And in those times, remember this: You are stronger together than you could ever be alone. Keep reaching for each other, no matter what. That’s how you’ll build a love that lasts a lifetime.”

I sighed, a deep pang pressing into my chest.

Back then, I had nodded, letting those words wash over me like warm sunlight.

But now? Staring at these pictures? I wasn’t so sure.

Had we already stopped reaching for each other?

I turned the dial on my camera and reclined back on the carpet.

I aimed the lens at the closet ceiling and pressed down on the shutter button, listening to one of my favorite sounds in the world.

Click .

The soft hiss of the shutter was invigorating, like the sound of a soda bottle opening.

God, I missed this .

Laying there, camera in hand, I realized it had been years since I had last really picked one up.

Before Hassani and I got married, you couldn’t see me without a camera.

It was always Ayla and her camera.

I turned onto my side, running my thumb along the camera’s body.

“Dad always said I had an eye for it…” I whispered to myself, lifting the lens to eye level.

I aimed at the racks of clothing on Hassani’s side of the closet and pressed the shutter button.

Click .

The way the soft shadows played against the walls made the shot look like something out of an editorial spread.

“ Hmph .” I smiled. “Maybe I still have the eye.”

I sat up, pushing off the floor, and left the closet, snapping photos of anything and everything along the way.

By the fifth shot, my mind was racing with all the things I could capture while the daylight still lingered.

It was raining, yes, but the clouds cast these deep, moody colors across the sky.

And the skylights made everything look incredible with the way light poured in from above.

“Gosh, that’s beautiful.” I sighed, analyzing the shot I had just taken of the raindrops streaking across the skylight in our living room.

I lifted my gaze and twisted my lips to one side.

“I wonder…”

I took long strides toward the kitchen next, going straight to our coffee bar.

Despite hating the D-Slam sculpture, I had left it exactly where Hassani put it.

I figured… he loves it, so I can learn to love it, too.

With my camera in hand, I took a few steps back, angling the lens toward the melting coffee cup sculpture.

I positioned it just right, letting the soft skylight glow cascade over the surface, then…

Click .

I peeked down at the LCD screen.

Cringed.

Then snorted a laugh.

“Nope,” I said under my breath, shaking my head. “You are still ugly as fuck, chile . Damn.”

That snort turned into a full-blown laugh.

I immediately turned the camera on myself, holding it out at an angle…

Click .

It had been too long since I had taken a picture of me.

When my face appeared on the LCD screen, all I could do was exhale in amazement.

There was nothing glamorous about me that day.

No makeup. My headscarf still wrapped around my hair.

Just a tee and shorts.

But I looked…

Beautiful.

Not because of what I had on or didn’t have on.

I looked beautiful… because I looked happy.

I lowered the camera and held it close to my heart.

“Reunited, and it feels so good,” I said tenderly, smiling.

Then I turned on the arches of my feet and sprinted toward the bedroom.

I had to tell Hassani.

I had to call him.

I had found my camera.

The skylights—the ones I told him his sketch of the house needed when we were teenagers—were absolutely perfect for it.

I had to tell him what a genius he was.

I had just reached the bedroom when I stopped, deciding…

He’s likely busy working. I’ll text him instead.

Me: I found my old camera today. The skylights make every shot look unreal. I love your brain so much, baby.

I stared at the message for a long moment.

My finger hovered over the send button…

But I didn’t press it.

I removed my finger.

Then I deleted the message altogether, closing out the text app.

Because…

I wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

We weren’t cool.

Hadn’t slept in the same bed for three nights.

I had said I wanted a divorce…

And even though I hadn’t meant it, he didn’t know that.

And honestly?

I wasn’t ready to forgive him.

Not yet.

I shook the thoughts free, dropping my phone back onto the bed.

I focused down on my camera and sighed.

Today was about me, anyway.

I ran my thumb along the camera’s body, a smile curling at my lips.

“What else can I photograph?” I whispered to myself, already eager for the next shot.