You Are Most Beautiful Through the Lens Chapter 1

When I brought up the breakup, Tyler Henderson was fiddling with his Canon camera, preparing to take a picture of me.

"Is this about Instagram again?" he asked without looking up, his tone dripping with dismissal.

"Yes."

Click. The shutter snapped.

He looked at the screen with satisfaction, the corner of his mouth curving into that familiar, arrogant smirk.

"This one’s not bad. It should get a lot of likes."

"Tyler, I’m serious."

"I know." He finally looked up at me, his eyes filled with a patronizing indulgence. "So, how long is the silent treatment going to last this time? A week? Two weeks? Babe, don’t take too long. I’ll miss you."

Eleven years.

Since we were seven years old, he had witnessed all my vulnerability and embarrassment. He had been there through my darkest times.

Because of that, he was too sure that I would never truly leave.

"I applied to UC San Diego," I said, looking straight into his eyes, enunciating every word. "After high school graduation, we’re done."

The camera in his hands almost crashed to the floor.

"What? California? Skylar, are you joking?"

"I’m not joking. The acceptance letter is already here. I’m moving to San Diego next month."

Tyler froze for a few seconds, then laughed. It was a confident, mocking laugh.

"You can’t fool me. We planned on NYU together for a whole year. How could you suddenly—"

"Because I’m tired of it," I cut him off.

"I’m tired of being your 'exclusive model.' I’m tired of you deleting my photos but posting a nine-photo carousel of Sophia. I’m tired of you saying 'when I have time' but always spending that time with her."

"Skylar—"

"We are over, Tyler. For real this time."

I turned and walked out of the Starbucks.

Behind me, his voice shouted, "You’re going to regret this!"

Maybe I will.

But at least I won’t be waiting anymore.

...

When I got home, I went straight to my father’s study.

"Dad, I want to go to San Diego."

My father put down the documents in his hand, took off his glasses, and looked at me. "Because my law firm is opening a branch there?"

"And because I want to leave this place."

He was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"After your mom passed, the Hendersons helped raise you. I’ve always been grateful to them. But—"

He paused.

"You don’t owe anyone your life."

My eyes suddenly welled up with tears.

"Go chase the life you want, sweetie. Dad will always support you."

That night, I posted a story on Instagram: Transferring one ticket to the Annie Leibovitz Photography Exhibition. First come, first served.

I had bought it from a scalper for double the price, intending to surprise Tyler.

He had been talking about this exhibition for six months and was depressed for days when the tickets sold out.

But now—he didn’t need it anymore.

A few minutes later, a stranger DM’d me.

"Omg, are you serious? I’ve been looking for this ticket for a month!"

I clicked on his profile.

Ethan Rivers. Photography Club. One grade above me.

His feed was full of black-and-white street shots and landscapes. The composition and lighting looked professional.

"Serious. Sixty bucks. Venmo me if you want it."

"Deal!" He replied instantly. "By the way, are you going too? If you are, we could go together."

I stared at the message, hesitating for a few seconds.

"Sure."