Chapter 37 : Sound of Water [Part 1]

The summer vacation has already been a week since it started.

It’s already been a few days since I met that strange woman. 

I tried to forget. 

In the end, some of the lines she said were probably just famous quotes from cosplay, and those meaningful words were probably just part of a random performance. 

So, I decided not to think too deeply about it. 

…But still, sometimes it suddenly comes to mind. 

“The kid who used to follow me around, holding onto my clothes, is now trying to find their own way?” 

What did that mean? 

Was it just a passing joke, or maybe— 

I shook my head and cleared the thought. 

It was probably just meaningless chatter. 

I quietly lifted my head and surveyed the scenery. 

The sunlight spread across the ground. 

The heat radiated over the asphalt, and a faint smell of earth wafted in the air. 

In the distance, the scent of green vanilla lingered in front of an ice cream shop. 

Every time the wind blew, the leaves rustled like the calm sound of the sea. 

The camera strap wrapped around my wrist was subtly uncomfortable as it became damp with sweat. 

Holding the camera with one hand, I slowly walked through the neighborhood, capturing any scene that caught my eye. 

Ivy climbing up the alleyway wall. 

A grandmother bent over with her curved back, sweeping the yard. 

The cool air flowing from inside a shop, the faint smell of fruit, and the scraping sound of a plastic chair against the floor. 

Click. 

At the moment I pressed the shutter, the air warped and a small trace was left behind. What was in that place wasn’t just a simple scene, but “that moment.” 

Taking a picture wasn’t just about capturing what was visible. 

It stored all the senses—the wind, the temperature, the smell in the air, even the touch on my skin—everything was saved together. 

I raised the camera again and captured the children walking down the side street. 

Click. 

With the sound, the moment was magically fixed in time. 

The moment when the children bit into their ice cream, the soft cold texture melting away. 

The sweetness spreading in their mouths and the coolness of the ice crystals on their tongues.

And at the same time, the hot breeze brushing their faces. 

In the lens, the children stayed suspended in that instant. 

After taking a few more pictures, I lowered the camera. 

I took the pictures, checked them, and kept walking. 

Once I saw a scene, the frame was immediately drawn in my mind, so there was no hesitation. 

The scenes I wanted to capture were there, just as I imagined. Maybe because I had spent so long as an observer, I instinctively knew how to take the shot. 

After a few more pictures, I turned off the camera, stood still for a moment to catch my breath, and then turned back. 

I didn’t like the heat, and I didn’t need to wander around for too long. 

Anyway, I had taken enough pictures. 

I wasn’t going to win any awards for this. 

It was just an action needed for my crub activities. 

But even so, my hand holding the camera unconsciously tightened. Like a young child who doesn’t want to let go of something precious. 

“When you’re alone, who can prove that you really exist?” 

Maybe the act of recording something is a way of proving my own existence.

The room was quiet. 

The fan hummed softly, and outside the window, the summer air gently swayed. 

I scanned through the photos on my laptop screen, then chose one. 

Click. 

At that moment, the screen trembled slightly. 

The ivy creeping up the alleyway wall. 

The sunlight gently settling on the tips of the leaves. 

In the afternoon, when the green deepens, the ivy slowly spreads across the bricks. 

The thick summer humidity settled on the bricks. 

I moved the mouse, adjusting the balance of light and color. 

Click. 

As the mana flowed through the mouse, the air in the photo was gently adjusted. 

I made sure not to let the unpleasant humidity of summer seep through too strongly, subtly removing the sensation of damp air sticking to the bricks. 

I didn’t want the sunlight to be too harsh, but I made sure the warmth lingering at the tips of the leaves didn’t disappear. 

I carefully adjusted the mana with the tips of my fingers. 

The earthy smell coming from the bricks, the moist vitality the ivy held. 

Click. 

I made sure the bright sunlight wasn’t too strong, but I also didn’t want to damage the feeling of the rich green season. 

I kept the heat reflected from the bricks from being too intense, but the lazy warmth of the afternoon still needed to be felt. 

I stopped my hand and looked at the photo. 

Even in the scorching heat, that alley still held the essence of a summer afternoon. 

But not the “burning hot heat,” but a pleasant part of summer. 

That moment remained naturally captured. 

Right now, this was enough. 

The next photo was of the grandmother sweeping the yard. 

In the photo, the grandmother holding a broom in one part of the yard. 

The sunlight gently settled over the wall. 

Small pebbles and dust rolled away from the end of the broom as it swept the rough ground.

Scritch scratch- 

I moved the mouse with my fingertips, staring at the screen. 

Click. 

I made sure the sunlight in the photo wasn’t too strong, but the warmth surrounding the grandmother’s shoulders remained. 

The moment came to mind.

When I asked if I could take a picture, the grandmother stopped sweeping and looked at me.

After a while, she smiled softly, the fine wrinkles on her face spreading.

“Well, is it okay for this old woman to be in the picture?”

Her voice was low and gentle.

I didn’t want to miss that smile in the photo.

That moment had stayed with me, somewhat impressionable.

It was an ordinary moment, just exchanging greetings.

A warm moment. I wanted to convey that feeling.

I made sure the movement of the broom in the picture didn’t look too hard. 

Not the weight of labor, but a scene of familiar and comfortable everyday life.

Mana quietly flowed from my fingertips.

Click.

I made sure the rustling sound wasn’t too harsh, but the sense of calm it conveyed was still there.

The grandmother’s fingertips were still strong, but her movements had a strange sense of leisure. 

She didn’t hurry, but each stroke was neat and precise.

I carefully adjusted the air, just a tiny bit.

Click.

The texture of the sunlight softened. 

Not too harsh, but enough warmth to seep through. 

As if the earthy smell from the grandmother’s fingertips and the warmth of the sunlight were being released.

That moment became even warmer.

I quietly stared at the screen.

Now, the moment when the grandmother smiled was also preserved in the photo.

Maybe, the person looking at the photo could also recall the grandmother’s smile.

I slowly exhaled and let go of the mouse.