“All done,” I stifled a yawn as I spoke.

“Let’s just go over the list one last time and we’ll be ready to hit the road,” my uncle instructed.

“Tripod, lenses, lens tissue and cleaning kit, extra batteries, light meter, remote release, water, Wi-Fi, power bank, mosquito repellent — and, of course, snacks.”

“Perfect!” my uncle blew a chef’s kiss into the air. It was four in the morning — or rather, night. We were standing in the guest room, hi-tech photographic equipment scattered at our feet. My uncle, an avid photographer, was preparing for his latest project: a shoot of the migratory birds currently flocking to Karachi’s beaches.

I was on my summer holidays, and since I had nothing better to do apart from lounging around all day, I would be accompanying him as his partner.

We loaded all the gear into the car and set off. The sky was an inky black. The night was quiet, not even a sparrow chirped.

Throughout the bumpy ride, I tried to doze off, but something was preying on my mind, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

The area was gloriously deserted, with no noisy tourists or screaming children to shatter the peace.

“Right, here we are,” said my uncle.

I inhaled the air and looked around, observing the natural beauty. The sky was a canvas of pale blue and soft gold, with tiny marshmallow clouds, and pink lacy waves were lapping at the shore. The sand stretched out, as far as the eye could see.

My uncle steered the car towards the scraggly rocks and parked it in the lee of the cliffs. We dragged out all the equipment and only then, at the last moment, I realised that I had forgotten something important. Very important!

“Umm... we may have a ‘slight’ problem, uncle!”

“What?” Uncle muttered distractedly. He was squinting at the light metre.

“We... uh... umm... we brought everything. Well… almost everything. But the thing is... ah… l’ve forgotten the... camera.”

Published in Dawn, Young World, May 31st, 2025