Karen's Temperature

"Doctors Without Borders" x "Freelance Photographer" fell in love and killed each other His name is Chen Zhou. I remember that was the first time I saw him. At that time, a ridiculous thought even flashed through my mind: If there really were angels in hell, this would probably be what they looked like. He was covered in blood, whether it was someone else's or his own. Sweat slid down his temples and mixed into the shirt that was already so dirty that no color could be seen. He didn't look up, but whispered: "Turn the light to the left." I was stunned for two seconds before I came to my senses—— He was speaking to me. I scrambled to move the camera light. "You don't mind if I take a photo?" I asked tentatively. He just said "hmm". His tone was as calm as if he was answering the weather. At that moment, my world seemed to be muted. All that's left is the "click" of the shutter and his steady, mechanical movements. I later learned that he had to sew for three full hours during that operation. The boy who was injured in the bombing eventually survived. The photo I took—the blood stains, the light, and his bowed profile—became the most important image in my life. I never told him.