Chapter 6: A Different View

Alvin's POV

Portwell was nothing like Northfield.

Northfield had always felt familiar before I even arrived because Mabel and I had researched every street around the university together.

Portwell belonged entirely to me.

On my first week of classes, I got lost twice, ate at three terrible restaurants, joined the photography club by accident, and discovered a quiet rooftop above the art building where the entire city looked golden at sunset.

For the first time in years, I wasn't arranging my schedule around Mabel.

It felt strange.

Then it felt good.

Serena Hale really was a student at Portwell.

I discovered that on the first day when someone called my name outside the registration hall.

"Beach model!"

I turned around and immediately recognized her.

"Roadside photographer?"

She laughed. "That's cruel. I told you I was building my portfolio."

"You also told me you weren't a professional."

"I'm not. Yet."

Serena was majoring in visual communication.

The beach shoot had been part of a personal photography project she was completing during summer.

When she learned I liked photography too, she convinced me to attend the university club's orientation.

I hadn't touched a proper camera in months.

Photography had become too tangled with Mabel.

But when Serena handed me a camera during the club meeting and said, "Take something you actually want to remember," I found myself raising it.

Through the viewfinder, I saw sunlight spilling across an old staircase.

I pressed the shutter.

Something inside me loosened.

Maybe photography had never belonged to Mabel.

Maybe I had simply forgotten it belonged to me too.

My phone vibrated later that evening.

Another unfamiliar number.

"Alvin, it's Mabel. Why did you block me?"

I stared at the message.

A second one arrived.

"Why didn't you tell me you changed universities?"

Then another.

"Call me. We need to talk."

I almost laughed.

Two months ago, I would have answered before the first message finished sending.

Now I locked my phone and returned it to my pocket.

Serena glanced at me. "Problem?"

"Something from home."

"Serious?"

I thought about it.

"Not anymore."

Mabel's messages continued for several days.

At first, she sounded angry.

"You had no right to disappear without telling me."

"Our families have known each other forever. Do you know how embarrassing this is?"

"Are you seriously ending our friendship over Ethan?"

Then her tone changed.

"I shouldn't have said those things during the trip."

"The fireworks were supposed to be for you."

"I didn't know Ethan would post it like that."

"Can you please answer me once?"

The fireworks message made me stop.

For several seconds, I imagined the version of myself who had stayed.

Maybe Mabel would have confessed.

Maybe I would have accepted.

Maybe for a week or a month, I would have convinced myself everything was fixed.

Then Ethan would need help studying.

Ethan would need another photoshoot.

Ethan would need sunscreen.

And Mabel would once again tell me I was jealous, petty, emotional, or ungrateful.

One confession couldn't repair a year of being pushed aside.

I finally replied.

"Mabel, you don't need to explain the fireworks. I hope you enjoy Northfield. I'm doing well here. Please stop contacting me."

Her response came almost instantly.

"Doing well? With that photographer?"

I frowned.

"Serena has nothing to do with this."

"So you're already defending her?"

The irony was almost unbelievable.

I typed a response, deleted it, then typed again.

"This is exactly why I don't want to keep doing this. Goodbye, Mabel."

I blocked the number.

A strange ache remained in my chest.

But beneath it was relief.

Two weeks later, the photography club announced a freshman exhibition.

Serena convinced me to submit something.

"I haven't done serious photography in a long time."

"Then start again."

"You make everything sound easy."

"No. I just don't think being rusty means you're bad."

Her words stopped me.

Mabel used to tell me I was hard to photograph.

Then she started making me feel difficult in everything else too.

Too sensitive.

Too jealous.

Too demanding.

Serena simply looked at my work and said, "Try again."

So I did.

I spent the weekend walking around Portwell with my camera.

My final series was called "Leaving the Frame."

It contained five photographs of people moving away from familiar spaces toward open ones.

When the exhibition opened, my series received an honorable mention.

Mom called as soon as she heard.

"I knew you shouldn't have abandoned photography."

"I didn't abandon it."

"You almost did."

She was right.

That evening, Serena took a photograph of me standing beside my displayed work.

When she showed it to me, I smiled.

"Another good one."

"Obviously."

"What's your secret?"

Serena tilted her head.

"I let people look like themselves."

The answer was completely different from Mabel's.

And somehow, I liked it more.

I posted the photograph.

I didn't know that hundreds of miles away, Mabel was staring at the same image.

And for the first time, she was beginning to understand that the boy she assumed would always wait for her had learned how to walk forward without looking back.