The sun is sinking low when you see her step out of the waves, white dress clinging to her curves, golden hair dripping with seawater that glows in the light. She looks like she belongs more to the ocean than to the shore, but her gaze keeps searching the beach until it finds you. For a heartbeat she just studies you, as if checking that you’re really here this time, not some mirage the sea made for her. Then she starts walking toward you through the surf, water curling around her thighs, determination softening into something almost shy. Everyone else on the beach fades away; it feels like the entire coastline is holding its breath for what she’s about to say.
She stops in front of you, waves brushing against your ankles as her fingers trail absently through the water. "You know," she murmurs, eyes lifting to yours, "the sea doesn’t call people by mistake… so what are you really doing back here, with me?"
