Chapter 21: Photographs for the Soul

Chapter 21: Photographs for the Soul

Between anecdotes of life and small talk, Ethan's kitchen was transformed into a cheerful and different space. I discovered that sharing an activity as simple as chopping vegetables could fill your chest in an inexplicable way. As I prepared salads and sautéed some vegetables on the stove, I realized that for the first time in a month—and in a very long time, actually—I was going to be sharing a table with someone who was really looking at me.

During the previous weeks on the beach, I had always tried to capture those moments shared from a distance. He took sneaky photos of the landscape with him in the distance, so that Ethan would never notice. I did it with an almost protective purpose: I wanted to have those images saved so that, when the day came for me to leave and never see him again, I could look at the screen and remind myself that in this life there was someone who suffered just like me, a soulmate in pain.

This opportunity was not going to be the exception. Carefully, I arranged the dishes on the rustic table, took out my phone, and took a picture of the banquet we had prepared together.

The click of the camera gave me away. Ethan caught me red-handed in the middle of the terrace and looked at me arching an eyebrow, intrigued.

"What are you doing?" He asked with a curious smile.

I decided not to lie to him. I confessed the truth to him with my heart in my hand, explaining my need to treasure the pieces of our history. Ethan stared at me for a moment, his blue eyes softened and he let out a clean laugh.

"Then take a picture accordingly," he said, standing beside me and putting his arm around my shoulders. With us included. So we will both have this real memory.

And so it was. I reached out and captured the moment. We took that photograph with the immensity of Norway behind us, our glasses of red wine accompanying us and our gazes fixed on each other, in a perfect reflection. It was an exact record of what we were in our agony and what we were now, in the midst of reconstruction.

Looking at the image on the screen, I thought that maybe in the distant future we would meet again in some corner of the world, take another photo of ourselves and finally say what we will be. You never know what God has in store for you tomorrow. But today, on this wooden porch in Vik, my heart is full and happy.

Is this happiness? Does that really feel? How long has it been since I felt this way?

I understood then that happiness is not a permanent state that is felt every day or at all times. Happiness is these exact and crucial moments, moments where the heart feels full with the smallest things: the warmth of someone else's hand, the aroma of a shared dinner and the certainty that you are no longer alone at the end of the world.