Sunsets had never been Andra's favorite time of day.
To most people, sunset meant romance, beauty, poetry.
To Andra, it meant loss.
Sunset was the hour of goodbye, the moment the world dimmed slowly never in a rush, as if prolonging the pain.
It had been three years since Siska married someone else, yet her shadow lingered in Andra's memories like dust on an old photo.
Now, ironically, he made a living photographing other people's joy weddings, engagements, birthdays. He captured happiness frame by frame, though he no longer recognized it in himself.
That evening, he was at a small lake on the city's outskirts. A prewedding shoot had just ended. The couple had been nervous, awkward, but Andra had worked his usual calm magic.
"Hold her hand tighter. Don't look at the camera—look at her eyes. You're in love, not in a job interview," Andra had said, his voice light but certain.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Three shots. The smiles he caught in those photos felt more real than anything he'd experienced in years.
"Photos will be ready in two weeks," he said as he packed his gear.
"Thank you, Mas Andra! We love how you work!" the bride-to-be chirped.
Andra offered a small smile and walked toward the far side of the lake. He rarely left immediately after a shoot. He needed time. Time to detox from other people's happiness before returning to his empty apartment.
The sky was soft orange, spilling gold across the water like melted sunlight. And that's when he saw her a woman sitting alone on a wooden bench, wearing a gray sweater and black jeans. She held a notebook but wasn't writing. Just… sitting. Staring at the sky.
Something about her silence resonated in Andra.
He wasn't the type to bother strangers, but she looked like someone who carried a quiet similar to his.
He lifted his camera, purely out of habit.
Just one shot, from afar.
No harm. No ill intent.
Click.
Then, she turned.
"Hey!" she called out.
Busted.
Andra raised his hands. "Sorry! I… I just…"
"You took a picture of me?" she asked, her tone calm but direct.
"Yeah, but it wasn't for anything. I swear. I just"
"Do you know what color the sky is right now?" she asked suddenly, cutting him off.
He blinked. "What?"
"The sky," she repeated. "What color is it?"
He glanced upward. "Orange. A bit of purple near the edges."
The woman nodded slowly. "Sounds pretty."
Andra tilted his head. "You can't see it?"
"I was born completely colorblind. The world has always been black and white for me."
Silence stretched between them.
"I'm Dira," she added. "And you're the photographer who stalks people with your lens?"
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Andra. And yeah, I deserve that."
She grinned. "Well… let me see the photo, then."
He approached and showed her the picture. The screen glowed faintly in the fading light.
"That's me?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"I look… sad."
He glanced at the screen, then at her face.
"Not sad," he replied softly. "Empty."
Her smile didn't falter. "That's honest. People rarely are."
Andra sat down at the edge of the bench, maintaining a polite distance.
"Do you come here often?" he asked.
"Every sunset. I like the sound the water makes when the sun disappears. It's like the world taking its final breath before sleep."
He was quiet.
That line it pressed against his ribs, too gentle to bruise, but impossible to ignore.
"I usually hate sunsets," he admitted.
Dira turned her head slightly toward him. "You're lying. There's bitterness in your voice when you say that."
He blinked. "You can hear bitterness?"
"When you can't see colors, you learn to listen deeper than most people."
"That's… impressive."
"Not really. It's exhausting. Because then I can tell who's lying, who's pretending to be okay, who's falling apart while trying to look composed."
He swallowed. "What about me?"
"You're broken. But you hide it well. You think photographing other people's joy might somehow patch your own cracks."
It struck him square in the chest.
He exhaled sharply. "Are you psychic or something?"
"No. I just spend too much time in silence. And silence is a brutally honest mirror."
The sun had nearly vanished. A chill crept in with the dusk.
"I should go," Andra said, rising. "It was nice meeting you, Dira."
"You too, Andra the Bitter Photographer."
He laughed under his breath. "Will you be here tomorrow?"
"I'm always here. Unless it rains."
"Then if it doesn't rain… can I sit here again?"
She smiled. "Sure. But next time, don't sneak a photo. Just ask."
They both laughed.
As Andra walked away, his steps felt different lighter, like he'd left a part of his burden on that bench.
Behind him, Dira remained seated, staring at the water.
In her bag was an unopened letter from the hospital. The latest medical report.
Inside, were words that would change everything.
Even if she'd never seen the colors of the world,
she was about to lose the little light she still had left.