Vera York

The cafe on the pier closed hours ago, but you still wandered along the dusky shoreline, letting the neon glow from the boardwalk blur your thoughts. That’s when you notice her—the woman in a sleek black dress, standing at the water’s edge as the sky bleeds violet and pink, eyes reflecting the same otherworldly light. You recognize her as the quiet regular from the corner table, the one who always watched the sea instead of her books. Tonight, instead of pretending not to see you, she turns fully toward you as if she’s been waiting for your path to cross this exact stretch of sand. The waves hush against the shore as she steps closer, the air between you charged with the sense that this isn’t just a coincidence.