Skandal Panas: Pernikahan Palsu Bersama Direktur

                                                                                SYDNEY

I love nature in a way I think people have forgotten how to. I live in a small city in Switzerland, and I love it here. Perhaps I love it because I've never known anywhere else; that's what Mama believes.

When I sit alone in silence, capturing fragments of my surroundings and freezing them in time, I feel truly free.

But everything that has a beginning must have an end.

The end of my solace arrived disguised as an opportunity, one I couldn't afford to lose. This time, however, the decision wasn't mine to make.

That Summer would change everything.

It all began with a letter.

*****************************************************************************************************************

8 am, Monday,

10th of July, 2017

  "Kameramann!"

  "Kameramann!" 

   "Sydney," I feel a thud on my back. "Where's your mind at, boy?" the store owner inquires with a smile on his face. "I got the straps you asked for," he adds.

I take a seat by the window, cleaning my lenses while waiting for my new straps.

"He is in his own world when he is with that camera of his," an old man by the lens shelf added.

"I too had a camera growing up," he continued. "I would take pictures of everything; it was so beautiful. I even gave it a name." He turns to look at me.

 "Every good camera has a name..." he coughs and is led to the counter by a young lady.

The storekeeper returns; his name is Greg, and I've known him since I was 6. I got my first camera from him. He tosses the straps at me, and I nod in gratitude.

 The young woman guides the old man to a seat and returns to the counter. She is a woman in her early twenties; her facial features are a lot like those of the old man. Her brown hair is in a messy bun, and her gentle smile reaches the edges of her eyes, causing them to glitter like diamonds in a dark cave.

"That will be 40 CHF," the storekeeper states

  "I'll be paying for that," the girl offers, bringing out some Swiss francs from her green knitted purse.

I continue to clean my camera in my seat; I look out the window at the sun rising on the green grass that seems to go on forever.  The land is so peaceful, and I take it in with a deep breath. 

  "Love it here, don't ya?" the old man blurts out, his face a few inches away from mine.

Whoa, that startled me

  "Yes sir, I really do," I say, beaming from ear to ear. He switches positions and takes a seat opposite me. 

I bend my head, staring at my camera. I only steal a few glances at him.  I wish I could take a picture of him.  I wonder what I would look like in my old age; would I be like him, loved and still in love with his youthful passion? Mama says my obsession with my camera is nothing but teenage whims.

  "What is its name?" the old man asks, his steel-blue eyes lit up with something, something wistful.  The wrinkles below his eyes deepen as he smiles at me, waiting for my answer. 

  "Nadia," I mutter, my eyes finally meeting his. "Its name is Nadia," I repeat.

My hands fidget with the cloth in it; my eyes follow his fingers tapping the wooden table in a steady motion. I look over to the girl who was with him; she is now fully invested in a conversation with the shopkeeper. My eyes flicker, and I feel a bead of sweat on my forehead. 

I shouldn't have talked to him

I should have just gone home

  "Hope"

He says after what seemed like an eternity. 

I look at him and catch a glimpse of sadness in his gaze

   "My wife's name was Nadia," He adds, reaching for his pocket. He fishes out a photograph; the Polaroid showed a couple on a beach. They don't stare into the camera, just at each other. Planting kisses on each other as if to seal their marks on each other's souls. 

   "She was my everything." He holds the picture, gripping its edges. "I was a photographer for the models back in New York," he chuckles.

    "She was wild and full of life" 

I stare at him in silence; I want to ask what happened to her. He clears his throat.

  "She got shot," he sobbed.

    "She was at a party in Paris when there was a shootout." he clutches the picture and shoves it into his pocket.

   "At least you have a picture to remember her by," I say, attempting to console him.

He laughs frantically at my statement. I gulp and look around, wondering if anyone was staring.

  "The boy has got a bright mind," he giggled. "True talk, son. I have a picture right here." his eyes well up, and he hurriedly dries the tears running down his cheek. I look away, letting him find comfort in his moment of vulnerability. 

  "But if I had to choose between this picture and the real thing," His gaze meets mine again.

  "I would have chosen to be in Paris that night, with a bullet in my skull," he added, tapping his forehead aggressively. "The camera captured a moment; I don't want a moment. I want forever with Nadia" 

 "The point is..." he continued

"Take pictures, son. But don't forget to live, either."

He glanced at the Polaroid in his hand.

"A photograph can preserve a moment. It can't give you the moment back."

  I nod awkwardly 

  "Had a good chat, didn't ya?" the girl says to the old man as she helps him up. Her accent tells me she's Australian, definitely from Brisbane.

  "Thanks for keeping him company. He's a bit of a chatterbox, hey?" She smiles and hands him his walking stick. 

  "My granddaughter," the old man beams

I knew their features were too similar to not be related

   "He doesn't need to know," she teased and walked him out.

  "Remember, son, live in the picture," He screams as she helps him out of the store. 

I look at them through the window, at her delicate smile and teasing remarks. All of which held memories, memories I believed a camera could preserve. He could never let go, could he? He kept the picture. I thought to myself.

  "Thanks, Greg." I get up abruptly. "I'll pay you back when I become a famous photographer," I added jokingly.

  "As if," Greg snorts

   "Get outta here, Sydney; the last thing I want is MarryJane saying her boy spent his life in my shop"

  "Bye, Greg, thanks for the new straps"

I ride my bicycle down the hill. There's a lake I love to stop by and take pictures of the animals that gather there. I ride down the path and take some pictures of the scenery. It's really quiet. I want to stay here forever, sit down by the lake with my throbbing knee and wrinkled hands, looking through frozen moments.   

  My peaceful thoughts are interrupted by a text from my sister.

               Zozo:

                      Mama found the letter 

                      Get your ass back here!

                                                                                                           Me:

                                                                                                                 You evil snitch!

                                                                                                                  You told her, didn't you?

                   Zozo:

                          .....

SHIT!!!!