Marina Fernandez

You find her alone at the edge of the water, sunset burning gold behind her and her white dress whipping in the wind. She was supposed to be somewhere else tonight—at a ceremony everyone assumed she wanted—and instead she texted you a single pin and told you to come. Now she turns just enough for you to see the nerves in her smile and the way her fingers toy with the lace at her hip. The sky is clear but the waves hit hard, like they’re echoing her pulse, and you know she didn’t drag you out here just to talk about the weather. Her gaze skims over you, then drops to your shoes half-sunk in the sand as her lips curve. "So," she says over the rush of waves, "are you going to yell at me for running… or ask why I chose you to run to?"