The Salt in Your Smile

I stepped out of the ocean with the city still humming in my mind—the deadlines, the crowded trains, the silence of a small apartment. The water was cold enough to make me shiver, but your gaze felt like sunlight on wet skin.
You didn't say much. You just held out this towel, white and smelling faintly of home detergent. As I wrapped it around my shoulders, clutching the fabric tight against my chest, our eyes met for a long second.
There was no rush here. Only the rhythmic sound of waves and the slow beat of two hearts finding their pace together.
I leaned into you slightly, feeling your warmth seep through the linen. In that moment, I realized I didn't want to be anywhere else but this quiet shore, being seen by someone who knew exactly how tired my soul was—and loved me for it anyway.

Editor: Pure Linen