Shayla Finds the Iman’s photo is left in Shayla’s house 👇 What happens next? ⬇️

 Shayla Finds the  Iman’s photo is left in Shayla’s house  👇 What happens next? SEE MORE FULL STORY ⬇️

Shayla Finds Iman’s Photo

Shayla was halfway up the stairs when she noticed it.

At first, she thought it was just another loose paper—one of the many things that seemed to drift around her house like ghosts of unfinished days. But something about it made her stop. The light from the window hit the glossy surface just right, and her breath caught.

She bent down and picked it up.

It was a photo of Iman.

Not a recent one. This was older—Iman leaning against the brick wall behind the old community center, half-smiling like he’d been caught between laughter and a secret. Shayla recognized the jacket immediately. She’d once teased him for wearing it even in the heat.

Her hands began to shake.

“Why is this here?” she whispered to the empty house.

She hadn’t seen Iman in three years. Not since the night everything fell apart—the argument, the words that couldn’t be taken back, the silence that followed. He had left town the next morning, and Shayla had told herself she was fine with that. She’d packed his memory away just like she thought she’d packed every reminder of him.

So how did this photo end up on her stairs?

Shayla searched the back of the picture, her heart pounding. One word was written in careful handwriting:

“I’m sorry.”

The air felt suddenly too thick to breathe.

She replayed the past week in her mind. The unlocked window she’d assumed was her mistake. The faint smell of his cologne she’d blamed on imagination. The way her dog had barked at nothing in the middle of the night.

Someone had been here.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, making her gasp. An unknown number.

She hesitated, then answered.

“Shayla,” a familiar voice said softly.

Her knees nearly gave out.

“Iman?” Her voice cracked, betraying every emotion she’d sworn she no longer had.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I just… I didn’t know how to face you. Not after everything.”

“Then why now?” she demanded. Anger rushed in to protect the hurt. “Why leave that here?”

There was a pause. “Because I’m back. And because I’ve been carrying that photo for years, hoping one day I’d be brave enough to give it back—to tell you I never stopped thinking about you.”

Shayla closed her eyes. Memories flooded in: laughter, late-night talks, dreams they’d built together. Pain followed close behind.

“You should’ve knocked,” she said quietly.

“I know,” Iman replied. “If you want me to leave again, I will. I just needed you to know the truth.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Shayla looked at the photo once more—at the boy she’d loved, and the man who had finally come back.

“Come to the front door,” she said.

“Shayla—”

“Come to the door,” she repeated, steadier now.

Minutes later, she heard the knock.

When she opened it, Iman stood there, nervous and hopeful all at once. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Some stories don’t end when people walk away.

Some wait.

And as Shayla stepped aside to let him in, she realized this was not the end of their story—it was the moment it finally continued.