Some photographs are born from careful planning. Others appear unexpectedly, offering something different from what we set out to capture. This was one of those moments. I had arrived in Valletta, Malta, for a conference, but my mind was elsewhere. At Gatwick Airport, before my flight, I had seen a photograph—an image that stuck with me. It was a sweeping view of Valletta’s streets, climbing and falling with the city’s natural contours, framed by golden limestone buildings under a brilliant Mediterranean sky. I wanted to find that scene, or something like it, and make it my own.

Searching for the Scene

So, on a free afternoon, I set off into the city. Valletta is a maze of contrasts—worn shutters and polished storefronts, narrow alleys opening into grand squares, centuries of history wrapped in the warm hum of daily life. I wandered without urgency, letting instinct pull me through the streets.

Eventually, I stopped at a small café, sipping something cold as the sun softened into late afternoon. Then, just as I turned the corner, I saw it. The hill stretched ahead of me, falling away into light, lined with parked cars but eerily still. It wasn’t quite the image from the airport, but it had its own rhythm, its own quiet presence.

I set up my shot, waiting for the right moment—waiting, mostly, for the people to move on. But the street never emptied. There was always someone stepping into the frame, a flicker of movement breaking the stillness. I waited longer.

An Unexpected Subject

Then, Nanna appeared with her grandchildren. She stepped into the road without hesitation, two small figures beside her. I almost lowered my camera. This wasn’t what I had planned. This wasn’t the empty, architectural shot I had envisioned.

But something about the way they moved together—the slow, measured pace, the way the children’s hands swung freely at their sides—held my attention. The city framed them, not the other way around. They weren’t an interruption; they were the story.

I pressed the shutter.

Looking at the image now, I realise how often photography is a lesson in letting go. We set out in search of something, but the best moments refuse to be orchestrated. The perfect shot is never the one we chase—it’s the one that finds us when we’re patient enough to see it.