Eiji could never tell exactly why he became a photographer.

It was a gradual choice. A decision that came about over months. It was like getting caught in an early spring rainfall - the invisible drops gently falling on the earth; you hardly bother, thinking you'll make it to a shelter soon, and then suddenly it whooshes in all at once, and you're soaked through within moments. Then there's no hope of going back.

Photography was like that rain for Eiji. After he came back to Japan, he was listless for quite some time. His inner athlete's spirit competing with the changed person that he had become, and without an outlet, Eiji felt like he was going to choke.

It was then that he took back his camera, Ibe san's camera rather, that had now become his, and he gradually became immersed within the world that he could see through a lens barely the size of the tip of your finger. It was strangely fitting.

Eiji was now the observer. All his life, he was either a follower, a supporter, or a passive participant in all the events that had lead up to his twenty years of life. Now, Eiji actively observed.

He saw life, and death, and colors and smiles and tears and the world was suddenly teeming with moments just waiting to be captured in permanece. It was a heady feeling. Eiji felt as if he was creating something wonderful, something everlasting, everyday.

He discovered he had something critics called 'insight'. It was supposedly due to that, that his photographs gave an overwhelming impression of warmth, of tenderness. Eiji didn't really bother with the how or why. He felt things, he experienced things, and that was enough.

The one thing Eiji genuinely enjoyed, was capturing portraits. For that one millisecond the shutter clicked, the bright light flashed, Eiji felt like a divine being. For that one second, he felt like he was stopping time itself. For all these people whose faces he captured, Eiji felt like he was holding them still in the flow of time, freezing a single laugh, a single frown, and holding them within his hands. It was a beautiful feeling.

He had read somewhere, that portraits were like love confessions. Every portrait that you capture, speaks of your love for your subject. You see them in a way that they'll not allow others to see, you bring out their beauty, their strength, their emotions, and you paint a picture that you love, with all your heart. The people on the other side of the camera would never know it, but you as the photographer, cannot lie to your own self.

This little thought had stayed with Eiji forever. Years had passed, his fame had grown. The big names in the art circles had acknowledged is prowess, but Eiji's simple codes had remained the same.

Every year, at an annual exhibition, he showcased all his chosen portraits, taken over the course of a single year. It had become a ritual. Art critics and photography students and Eiji's friends and family had gradually spread the word about this special exhibition and it was something Eiji had decided to continue as long as possible.

Every year there was one photo of a certain person that Eiji displayed, which was different from all others. In Eiji's eyes, that particular portrait seemed to shine the brightest in the mistly light of the gallery. Maybe it was so because his deepest, most warmest love surrounded the subject of the picture. And no matter how many years passed, that love had never faded away.

Every year, when the exhibition ended, Eiji had made it a habit to roam around the empty gallery and stop in front of the pictures and remember the stories behind them. Sometimes they brought a smile, at others, nostalgia, and yet others, profound sadness.

The last portrait was where Eiji stood the longest, gazing into the eyes of the man in the picture, memorising all the lines, all the colors, and wishing he could remember all of it more vividly, forever.

This year, it was the 25th anniversary of the exhibition, and everyone had asked for an exhibit of grand proportions. Something epic, something brilliant, about which people would talk forever, Akira had said, her eyes rounded with excitement.

And Eiji had indeed given them what they wished. After a lot of deliberation, he had made a hard choice. He had been very, very apprehensive about the outcome, but it had surprisingly turned out to be a huge success. Eiji wouldn't have cared anyway. He wanted this and he was going to do it anyway once he had decided upon his layout and content.

And now the exhibition was finally over, the gallery was empty. Everyone had gone back, leaving him with profuse praises. Eiji was doing his ritual round though the rooms. It was well past midnight.

In the silence of the halls, he heard a door open somewhere outside and after a few moments, familiar footfalls approached him from behind. The intruder reached him where he was standing in front of the last photograph. For a moment, they stood in silence and looked at it. That photo was the most recent one among all the twenty five in the gallery.

"It's a beautiful picture, Eiji. You outdid yourself."

Eiji turned and looked into eyes shining with pride. Beautiful green eyes, that always shone like jade in the golden light of dawn.

"You really think so?"

"Of course! I mean, look at it! I'm no expert, but this...it's just….I dunno...I never knew I actually looked at you that way."

There was silence again. Eiji felt himself being stared at through narrowed eyes.

"What did you guys do the whole day anyway? You look totally mowed down and your hair's a complete mess…." he murmured reproachfully and stepped closer.

Eiji's hair was slowly undone and he felt long wiry fingers carding through his tresses gently.

"Don't tell me you wrestled with the critiques that gave you bad reviews now, did you?"

That forced a laugh out of Eiji.

"You should've called me! I'd have settled it nicely. You know what they say, the lynx never misses." He arched his eyebrows, already expecting Eiji to go along with the humor.

Eiji supposed he would. He did it every time anyway.

They stood like that for sometime, the only sounds being their quiet breathing and the soft swishes of Eiji's hair. After the chaos of the last exhibition day, this moment of comfort felt like heaven. Eiji's eyes fell closed and his tired muscles relaxed in their shared bubble of warmth.

There was a warm press of lips against his forehead, that startled Eiji awake. It seemed he had almost fallen asleep.

"You're tired, Eiji. Let's go home now, yeah?"

Let's go home. Three simple words, and yet, Eiji felt like he was falling in love all over again. Between them, there had never been much fancy words exchanged, no exaggerated declarations. Neither of them were built that way. But their every action, every little thought and decision, always reached the other. The care they had for each other went beyond anything Eiji could put words on. He couldn't define it even if he tried. So, he chose a simple reply instead.

"Yes. let's go home."

They left the empty gallery and made their way outside. The heavy doors closed behind them upon the rooms that housed twenty five photographs.

The novelty of the 25th anniversary of the exhibition had been the twenty five portraits displayed in the gallery.

The subjects of each were the same. A young man, with golden hair and striking emerald eyes. The photographs depicted the him over the course of time. From a youthful teen to an adult, gradually capturing his life in twenty five different frames. None of these photos had been disclosed to the public before this. Eiji had guarded these pictures close to his heart for a long time now.

The last photograph was taken by Eiji mere weeks ago. It depicted Aslan Jade Callenreese, the subject, standing at the edge of a cliff in Cape Cod, at daybreak: the wild sea breeze ruffling his hair, the first light of dawn creating a golden halo around his face.

The title of the photograph was "Dawn", and Eiji would freely confess he didn't even take half a second to have come up with the name. He had taken one look at Ash that day, at that single moment and had decided what his final portrait was going to be that year, pressing his shutter without a second thought.

Ash had gone for a morning run, as was his habit, and Eiji had snuck up on him with his camera as he was watching the sunrise, standing over the cliff. The photo captured Ash's moment of surprise, and his dazzling smile as he had turned his head and recognised who had come up behind him. The joyous smile, full of love and hope and contentment, was directed at Eiji. That smile was Eiji's alone, and he had captured it in a single moment frozen in time.

There were twenty five portraits in the gallery that year. Or, as Eiji knew in his heart, they were twenty five of Eiji's love letters, all to Ash.