The Woman in the Photo

Maya hadn’t meant to go through his things.

She told herself she was just picking up after him. She always cleaned after people. Old habit. Something about claiming back the space. Making it hers again.

Elias had taken off his jacket and tossed it over the arm of the couch before stepping out to get something from the corner store. Just water and painkillers, he’d said. His shoulder had been stiff all morning. Something about a fight before he met her.

She didn’t ask for details.

She was folding his jacket when the photo fell out.

At first, she didn’t even recognize what it was. The print was old and slightly creased, the edges curled. She picked it up, flipped it over.

And froze.

It was Elias. Younger, maybe by a few years. Clean-shaven, sitting on the hood of a car, his arm slung around a woman with long braids and a half-smile that said she knew secrets.

Maya stared at it for a long time.

They looked close. Not just physically, but in a way that said they’d bled together. That they’d shared something deeper than sex. The woman had her hand on his thigh like she belonged there. And Elias? He looked relaxed. Soft, even.

Maya had never seen him look like that.

She felt a slow burn rise in her chest.

It wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear. The realization that she had no idea who he really was. He said he hadn’t touched anyone in years. But this didn’t look like years ago. This looked recent.

The door opened behind her.

She turned around, photo still in hand.

Elias paused in the doorway, a plastic bag hanging from his fingers. His eyes went to the photo. Then to her face.

Maya spoke before he could.

“Who is she?”

His jaw tightened. “Where did you find that?”

“In your jacket.”

He shut the door with more force than necessary and stepped forward. “You went through my stuff.”

“I was folding your jacket.”

“You were looking.”

“I wasn’t. It fell out. I picked it up.”

His eyes darkened. “So now you’re checking for evidence?”

“I didn’t mean to. But now that I’ve seen it, yeah. I want answers.”

He dropped the bag on the table and ran a hand through his hair.

Maya held up the photo. “She looks like someone who knew all the parts of you I’m still trying to name.”

“She did.”

“Did?”

“She’s gone.”

“Dead?”

He hesitated. “No. Just gone.”

“That’s vague.”

“It’s true.”

Maya felt the weight of his silence and wanted to throw something at it. Break it open.

“You told me you hadn’t been with anyone in years.”

“I haven’t.”

“But you’re still carrying pictures?”

“I don’t look at it.”

“Then why do you have it?”

“Because once in a while, I need to remember who I used to be.”

She stared at him. The words landed, but they didn’t settle.

“Who was she?”

“Her name was Jana.”

“What happened?”

“I loved her.”

Maya’s throat closed.

Elias sat down on the couch, leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We were together before I got locked up. She waited. Three years. Every letter. Every visit. Then one day, she stopped coming. No note. No goodbye.”

“She just left?”

He nodded. “And I didn’t blame her. I had nothing to offer.”

Maya stood still, the photo hanging from her fingers like it weighed more than paper. “You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

“I didn’t know I had to.”

Elias looked up at her. “I wasn’t hiding her. I was just trying to let her go quietly.”

“She’s not gone if she’s still in your jacket.”

He didn’t answer.

She walked over, held the photo out to him.

“Keep it. Or burn it. But don’t lie about what she was.”

He took the photo slowly, looked at it once, then set it facedown on the table.

“I’m not in love with her,” he said. “But I think I’ve been grieving who I was when I was with her.”

Maya sat beside him.

“You look different in that photo.”

“I was.”

“What changed?”

He looked at her, quiet and steady.

“Prison. Regret. Pain. You.”

She looked down.

“I’m trying,” he said. “To give you all the parts of me.”

“I don’t need all of them.”

“You deserve them.”

Maya was silent for a long time. The tension between them didn’t break. It softened.

“Do you still want her back?” she asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because she left.”

“And if she came back?”

“She’s not you.”

That answer hit somewhere deep.

Maya leaned into the couch cushions, body finally beginning to relax. Her heart still knocked against her ribs, but less violently now.

“You scare me when you shut down,” she said. “When you close off.”

“I was scared. I didn’t want to lose what we’re building.”

“Then tell me next time. Don’t make me ask.”

“I will.”

Maya watched him as he reached for the photo, held it for a moment, then tore it once down the middle. Clean. No hesitation.

He didn’t say anything as he dropped it into the trash.

She didn’t cheer. Didn’t smile.

But something inside her settled.

Not trust. Not yet.

But something close.