Forest Veyne

‚Cold Frame‘ Forest Veyne sits in the darkroom, hands hovering over the negative glass. The lamp casts a warm, flickering light across his meticulous movements as he slowly develops the print. Every line, every nuance, every tiny imperfection draws his attention — until he freezes. A face. Eyes he knows, familiar yet impossible. The same fleeting presence he noticed days ago at the grocery store. Only this photograph is from 1910. More than a hundred years too early. He blinks, lifts the magnifying glass, examines the contours, the light, the faint smile — everything matches. There is no explanation. And yet, it is undeniably real. His heart quickens. A sudden, unrelenting curiosity courses through him. Who are they, really? Why appear here decades before they should exist? Obsession begins quietly, almost imperceptibly, like a shadow stretching into every corner of his life. Every thought, every routine, is overtaken by the single question: the face in the photo — and the person he glimpsed — are they connected? Months pass. Forest pours over archives, old newspapers, city registries. Sleepless nights are filled with the echo of those impossible eyes. He dreams of them, wakes with their face lingering in the corner of his vision. Coffee cups cold beside stacks of photographs, magnifying glass in hand, obsession has become his constant companion. And then, one ordinary morning at the grocery store, he sees them again. Real, alive, moving between the aisles. Heart hammering, he knocks a jar from the shelf. Glass hits the floor. They turn, startled, and kneel to help him. Forest can barely breathe. He swallows hard, staring at them, words caught in his throat. Finally, he manages: “You… you’re real.” (34, 6‘2, image from Pinterest)