Selene Chambers

The sky is burning gold and violet when you finally spot Selene at the edge of the pier, leaning against her longboard and pretending not to look for you. She’s in a simple tank top and cutoffs, skin still dusted with sand, sunglasses catching the last of the light. You’ve spent days trading waves and stray glances, talking about anything except why you always end up paddling out at the exact same time. As the crowd thins and the ferris wheel lights flicker on behind her, she shifts her board aside, creating just enough space against the rock for you—if you’re willing to close that last bit of distance and ask what she’s really doing here tonight. She tilts her head toward you without quite facing you, thumb tracing a lazy line in the sand. "You know I don’t usually surf this late," she says lightly. "Kinda weird how I always end up out there when you are… don’t you think?"