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09 | the hike pt.2

"This is Prince Square. Named after my great-grandfather Arnold Prince, who was the first mayor of Juniper Hills. Juniper Hills is actually named after my great-great-grandmother Layla Junipers," Asher points to a roundabout, where a large marble statue of one very good-looking man in a suit stands atop a pedestal. Beneath him on the pedestal, it says "Arnold Prince, Honourable First Mayor" in golden block letters.

The roundabout stands in the centre of perhaps the entire town, and four roads diverge from it. Huge signboards saying "Lovers' Lake", "The Hills", "Pine Hills", "Art Museum" and "Shopper's Arena" are displayed on a stand, all pointing in different directions. Wow.

This town is so aesthetically pleasing, it truly is a photographer's heaven.

Cold winds blow across our faces as I smile up at Asher and whip out my camera. Its gleaming black body, overused buttons and the distinct ticking sound the timer makes are all so familiar to me, I know them as well as I know my reflection in the mirror. In a flash, I'm taking pictures of everything around me. The gold pedestal, the marble statue, the green signboard and the large Victorian style houses here that are so freaking beautiful I couldn't miss clicking them if I wanted to.

Why don't cities look like this? Why isn't Spring Park as quiet at night as this town is?

The pretty brown-haired boy stands beside me with an amused smile hanging on his lips, hugging his hoodie to his chest. It's only grown colder, but I'm feeling warmer than I have in days. Asher could have easily been sound asleep in his bed right now, but for some insane reason, he chose to use his time walking around the town with me.

I'm so dreadfully engrossed in my whole photography-slash-thinking session that I turn to Asher with the camera held to my eyes, ready to snap him in his smile when I realise you've got to take permission first.

"Can I click you?" I ask, lowering the camera a little bit, and his smile vanishes into thin air. His mouth sets into a thin line, and it hits me that I'm probably being very stupid and he's already tired of me. "It's okay if you don't--" I start, afraid he's going to run off and leave me alone here. Instead of doing anything remotely close to my imagination, Asher bursts out laughing. He winks at me. Breathing returns to my lungs.

This boy is just so pathetic, I so badly yearn to punch his perfect face.

"Oh, Lissa. You can click me if I can click you," he mumbles between his laughter, tears running down his face. Wait a moment. Did he just say I could click him if he could click me?

As if reading the question in my eyes, Asher pulls out a minty blue Polaroid camera from his hoodie pocket—stumping me entirely. I would never have put Asher to be into photography. No, flush that. I thought he'd be the kind of person who'd love to have his own pictures clicked, because he has that kind of face, that kind of body. Every photographer's dream body.