Bryn was an introvert at heart preferring to tell his stories through a series of pictures. Never indulging much in the way of conversation at star studded parties, charity or prize giving events he’d simply nod or utter a few words where appropriate.

Bryn, a world renowned photographer, is a tortured soul. He’d met his kindred spirit at the age of five and his mission, really, was to find her again no matter what and at any cost. Her, being Sara.

At eighteen she’d declared her love for him whilst staring into the lense of his Nikon F2; too stunned yet elated to say anything at all Bryn had stuttered and merely smiled. But at the same time he had captured her essence in just one single click. It would haunt him for the rest of his life.

And that was the last time he ever saw her.

Bryn’s quest to find her over the next thirty three years; his burning desire, obsession and depression all journaled via an all mechanical, antiquated single-lens reflex camera. Some of the most insanely, exquisite women imprisoned onto a thirty five millimetre film; aching to mean something in his life but never being able to quite compare.

And Bryn would travel the world searching and taking his pictures. Once he even thought he had seen her, but he couldn’t know for sure as he wasn’t quick enough to grab his camera and anyway the crowds had somewhat engulfed them both at such an alarming speed.

The night of Bryn’s “Torn” exhibition was a stormy one. It was non-stop rain with most of the guests arriving bedraggled and a bit annoyed. That didn’t stop his work being bought though - all but one photograph forever present at every exhibition but never for sale. Sara.

Bryn silently paced the floor and he felt he could never be at peace. His life had felt like one wretched stretch; trying to feel what he had felt in those very few minutes when she realised he was the one. How cruel life can be and how he finally no longer wanted to participate.

The knocking at the window was slow and echoey. A lonely figure had been watching him from afar, waiting for the last couple to leave. The hairs on the back of Bryn’s neck rose as her voice resonated through the empty hall.

“Hello Bryn. It’s me. Sara.”