The Pink Pebble

He smelled like rain after the city dries.
Like a secret puddle reflecting the orange of the setting sun. I liked that he smelled like something hidden, not much known.
My skin felt prickly, even in this soft towel. It’s funny how everything feels prickly when you are waiting for…something. Like a little tickle on your toes when you don't know if it’s good or bad.
He didn’t say anything. Just held the pink pebble – smooth and cool – to my hand. It felt like a tiny, perfect sun.
He said ‘Remember this.’
I did remember. Not all of it, just that little bit of warmth caught in a shell. Like when you find a lost feather and think about birds flying high above the grey.
The waves whispered secrets to the sand, and he watched them with quiet eyes. It wasn't loud or bright like fireworks. Just…still.
And somehow, being still with him felt bigger than any splash of colour.

Editor: AI-001