Fading Photographs

A short story by Mahathi Ad

Jun 20, 2026

Congratulations to Maha for having their following short story chosen for publication on Blank Canvas Post. The short story that follows is a truly wonderful exploration of reminiscing, identity, and loss. Please read the follow conversation between us at Blank Canvas Post and Maha to understand more about the writer and the context for this brilliant short story.

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Writer Spotlight: Mahathi Ad.

Originally from Illinois, USA, Maha has been writing for as long as they can remember. “Ive always had little notebooks I would fill up with the thoughts in my head, whether it be short stories, poems, or even songs”, says Maha. “I would often stop halfway, though, as my attention span was so incredibly short. First grade was the first time I remember sitting down during what we called “creative time” and wrote a full short story - the first one I remember completing”.

What was it that made you start writing?

I’ve always been fascinated by stories. My family is very serious about movies and I grew up watching films with them. After a viewing, we would analyse whether the film was good or not, and if we did deem it bad, we would then discuss how we would have made it better. I viewed my life, and other people’s lives, as stories too, constantly evolving and always in need of context. This inevitably led me to writing, as I could craft stories of my own.

What experiences have you had that have shaped the writer you are today?

I cannot pinpoint one specific experience as everything in my life has shaped me to be the writer I am. Every English teacher, every dance teacher, and every drama teacher has fostered my love for storytelling.

What genres are you writing at the moment? What genres do you enjoy writing?

I typically write poetry and prose, but I’ve gotten more into short stories recently. I try to match the medium to the story being written. I think of poetry as more of a spur of the moment type of thing-- perfect for when I’m still feeling the emotion I’m writing about. Prose is more analytical-- slightly after the fact, but still about a specific feeling. Whereas short stories have more breathing room-- they allow a character to be analysed from more perspectives than just from the one they’re being told from.

What inspires you to write? Where do you take your inspiration from?

I write about what I know, and most of the time, that means I take inspiration from my own life. My main driving factor to write poetry is to use it as an outlet-- to vent out all the thoughts in my head without having to burden someone with that information. That being said, I also enjoy writing fiction; if I see something beautiful by the side of the road, a painting that seems to yearn for context, or a film whose themes linger with me, I turn to writing.

What does your writing process look like (e.g., environment, tools, setting)?

I tend to write on my laptop a lot of the time. When I’m meant to be studying but something needs to be said, my laptop is already in front of me, ready to take in my work. But if it’s a more urgent thought, the notes app on my phone works beautifully, and if it’s a thought I cannot seem to understand but need to digest, I write it in my notebook with my pen. I like to write in a quieter environment, but most of the time, it doesn’t matter too much to me.

What do you envisage when you are writing something new? Are you writing with the intention of sharing your work, or are you simply writing to write, for example?

I think for me, this varies on the work itself. A lot of my poetry is me trying to understand my own mind. If I’m feeling an immense sadness, for example, I turn to poetry to help pin down where that sadness may be coming from. The majority of this type of work is only for my eyes. That being said, I do end up sharing some of my poetry after the fact, as writing that comes from the depth of despair is oh so poetic. However, when I’m writing a short story, I tend to write more with a reader in mind.

Why do you think community is important for writers and creative people?

I think community is so important for creative people as it can be easy to get carried away in your work. When you are so used to reading only your work with no one to interpret it, sometimes it can be hard to imagine other perspectives. Something I think I’ve spelled out so clearly with my writing may appear vague at best to someone else. This understanding of your audience is crucial, in my opinion, when you are writing for a reader.

Where do you currently share you work?

Substack.

Why did you submit your work to Blank Canvas Post? What drew you to our publication?

This was a short story I was honestly pretty proud of, but it wasn’t getting as pushed out on Substack at first. So, I came across this platform on Substack and I thought I’d try my hand.

About the Short Story: Fading Photographs.

Regarding Fading Photographs, what inspired you to write this piece?

There was a Hindi film I was watching a little before I wrote this piece called Saiyaara. Though not similar in terms of plot, the film shares similar themes of memory issues and what that means for the people that you love. That concept had lingered in my mind far after I finished watching the film, so those themes crept into this piece.

What is the context for this piece? What is the main feeling or message behind it?

The main theme of this piece is memory and how that affects the people we love. It explores the way that your emotional memory can far outlast your episodic memory, especially with emotions like love. The main character is confused about her past, her identity, and much of the world around her, but she is certain that she once had love, and that is enough to soothe her, even if only momentarily.

What was the process of writing this piece like for you? What did this process look like?

I tend to write my pieces in one sitting, so I drafted this all at once and then went back to polish it a few more times. Overall, the draft took about an hour, and the revisions took roughly another hour.

Why did you choose to submit this piece specifically to Blank Canvas Post?

BLANK CANVAS POST showed up on my Substack feed, and I had never submitted my work anywhere, so I was curious to see what would happen.

So, without further ado, here is Fading Photographs, a short story by Maha.

Fading Photographs, by Mahathi Ad.

Through the lens of a fading photograph, it all feels real again. The light we lost, the time we wasted, the worlds we built and destroyed in our heads. Through the lens of these deteriorating memories, I can feel you breathe against me, one last time. And as your head rested on my lap, the sun making your eyes just a shade lighter, the laughter still on your lips, we were serene. A scene that’ll remain untouched for as long as my mind will have it.

Through the lens of lives once lived, this current one is the most unfulfilling. Both of us left to our solitude, both of us trapped in the cages of our own heads. And we age and we grey and we forget what we used to be. And sometimes a thought of you crosses my mind, but the colours are all faded. Your eyes, like a caramel dipped toffee, now reduced to shades of grey.

And sometimes I think you’ve returned to me. I can hear your footsteps, lighter at first but heavy at the end. And I turn to meet your eyes and I’m met with nothing but these disgusting walls. These shades of grey. This excuse for a place.

And sometimes someone visits. He’s older, greyer, not nearly as beautiful. And he says he misses me. Misses us. And I look at him the way I look at everyone else in this place, with confusion. Because he says words I don’t understand. He tells me of places I’ve never been. He reminds me of memories I’ve never lived. The only part of him that’s familiar to me is that sadness in his caramel eyes. I see it in the mirror. And I do not know what causes it, but I know it hurts immensely. I’m grieving a pain I was never put through.

But I have these photographs. And these deteriorating memories. And if I’m lucky, sometimes I can hold on to one for longer than a second. And I close my eyes tight. I lean against the uncoloured walls. And I see your eyes. And I hear your laugh. And maybe this is enough. I hold this love for someone I can’t remember; I hold this pain for something that escapes me. But maybe this memory, this memory that never lasts, maybe this can be enough.

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