Photograph

The Unseen Boy

War had always been a photographer, an artist who saw the world through the lens of his camera rather than his own eyes. He wasn’t one to draw attention to himself, never the center of any conversation. The camera, though, that was his voice. It captured what he couldn’t express in words. His wealth had afforded him the luxury of having access to the best equipment, to the best schools, to a life that others could only dream of. But there was something deeper within him, a quiet longing, a hunger for something beyond the surface.

His passion for photography wasn’t just a hobby—it was his way of understanding the world, of understanding himself. And in those first years of university, when he’d begun working on his graduation project, his photographs had become more than just pictures—they were fragments of his soul, tiny windows into his heart. He spent hours wandering the city, capturing moments that others missed: the soft curve of a woman’s smile, the stillness of the sea at sunset, the unspoken connection between strangers. These were his moments, his stories.

It was during those days that he first noticed the young boy.

Or rather, it was when he first didn’t notice him. The boy was always there—on the outskirts of the crowds during university events, in the background of his candid shots. War had no memory of ever speaking to him, no recollection of his name, and yet, somehow, this boy had become a fixture in his photographs. War was drawn to capturing the world as it was—unpolished, raw, and unscripted. His camera clicked, and there the boy would be, his face often obscured, his form an afterthought in the grander scheme of the image.

War never stopped to think about him, never asked why the boy kept appearing. He was just another face in the crowd.

But all of that changed one night, months after graduation, when War was going through his old files. The exhibition was approaching, and he had no idea what to display. His inspiration had dried up, leaving him empty and struggling for meaning. So, he dove into the archives of his past, hoping for a spark, a glimmer of something he could use.

It was then, as he sorted through thousands of images, that he found it—a photograph unlike the others. A portrait.

The boy.

He was standing alone, captured from the side, with his head tilted down slightly, as though lost in thought. War could not place the moment. He couldn’t remember when he had taken the shot, but the image was striking. The boy’s features were sharp—his jawline defined, his cheekbones high, and his eyes large and intense. There was a vulnerability in the way his lips were parted, a softness that contradicted the strong angles of his face. But what drew War in, what stopped his heart, was the quiet intensity in the boy’s expression—a mix of contemplation and uncertainty, a stillness that spoke volumes.

War had taken countless pictures over the years, but this one felt different. It felt important.

The portrait was everything he had been searching for in his art. It was raw and unguarded. It was the kind of photograph that spoke to him, that tugged at something deep inside him. War could almost feel the boy’s presence in the room, as if the image itself held a secret, a mystery that begged to be uncovered.

But War had no memory of ever meeting this boy. His mind raced as he searched through the fog of his memories, trying to recall where or when this photo was taken. He remembered the graduation project—the long nights, the search for inspiration—but this face, this boy, was not something he could remember. How could he have missed him?

The boy had appeared in several of his candid shots during university events, always in the background. Always just out of focus, never the subject of the photograph, but somehow always present. How had War never seen him before? How had he never noticed?

The portrait lingered in War’s mind for days, like a haunting whisper that wouldn’t fade. And then, in a moment of clarity, he made a decision. This photo, this boy, would be the centerpiece of his next exhibition. It would be the one piece that would define his next chapter as an artist. He knew it was a risk, submitting a portrait of someone he didn’t even know. But there was something in this image, something in the way it captured the boy’s unspoken story, that felt right. It was the kind of art that made people stop and think, that made them question what they were seeing. It was the kind of photo that had the potential to change everything.

War spent the next few days preparing for the exhibition, finalizing his collection. He couldn’t stop thinking about the boy in the portrait. Who was he? Where had he gone? Had he even known he was being photographed all those times?

The exhibition opened to the public weeks later, and War stood by his display, watching as people walked through the gallery. He felt a strange sense of pride mixed with anxiety—this was his work, his vision, and he had no idea how it would be received. The crowd drifted from piece to piece, murmuring amongst themselves, lost in the art. But as they approached the portrait, something shifted. There was a gasp, a quiet murmur that passed through the visitors.

The boy’s face, his expression—there was something magnetic about it. War couldn’t explain why, but the image drew people in.

Critics were fascinated. Fans whispered in awe. The boy’s features, his intensity, his vulnerability—it captivated everyone. His image spread across social media, shared by art lovers, and discussed by critics. The boy had become an enigma, a symbol of mystery and raw emotion.

But War knew nothing about him. The boy was still a stranger.

In the weeks that followed, the portrait continued to dominate the conversation. People wanted to know who he was. Where did he come from? What was his story? And yet, War had no answers. He only knew that he had captured something extraordinary—something that had slipped through his fingers, unnoticed, until now.

One evening, as War was going through his photos again, he found another shot of the boy, this time from the same event, standing just a few steps behind another student. His face was partially obscured, but it was unmistakably him. War stared at the photograph, wondering how he had never realized who this boy was. And then, in a strange moment of recognition, he remembered something else.

The boy had been everywhere—always in the background, never the focus, but somehow always present. And War had never noticed him.

As the portrait of the boy continued to gain popularity, War found himself growing obsessed. He wanted to know who this boy was, to understand the story behind that quiet intensity, the vulnerability in his eyes. He searched through old yearbooks, contacted university friends, but the boy remained elusive. No one seemed to know him. No one seemed to have noticed him the way War had.

Meanwhile, Yin, the boy in the portrait, watched from afar, knowing more about War than War ever knew about him. Yin had seen War—the senior with the camera—during university, and had been captivated by him. He had secretly taken pictures of War on his phone, stealing glances whenever War wasn’t looking. Yin had loved him from afar, quietly harboring a deep affection, a love that had never been returned.

But now, as the portrait of him went viral, Yin couldn’t help but smile. War had unknowingly captured him—his image, his soul—and displayed it for the world to see. Yin, the boy in the background, was now the focus of everyone’s attention.

But the irony was not lost on him. While the world marveled at the mystery of his face, Yin remained just as invisible as before—unseen by War, and unnoticed by the very man who had captured his essence so perfectly.