Short narrative

Mina put the borrowed camera on the low wall while she tied her shoe. Her friend had trusted her to return it after photographing the school garden, and she had spent the afternoon checking that the lens stayed clean. When she stood up, the place beside her bag was empty. She looked once, then again. The camera was gone.

A boy stood near the gate, holding something dark. Mina felt the accusation forming before she had worked out what she had actually seen. He had been the only person nearby. Surely that meant he knew something. She took a step towards him. Then a movement beneath the bench caught her attention: a narrow strap stirred in the wind.

Mina knelt beside the wall. A gap ran between two loose stones, just wide enough for the camera to slide through. She reached beneath the bench and drew it out by the strap. A dry leaf clung to the case, but the lens was unmarked. Behind her, the boy lifted the dark object to his mouth. It was a water bottle.

She checked the camera once more and stood up. At the gate she paused. “Sorry,” she said. The boy looked puzzled; he had never heard the accusation. Mina could have pretended that nothing had happened, but the apology mattered to her. She put the camera safely inside her bag and walked back to her friend, noticing how quickly an empty space had become a story she almost believed.