The Weightlessness of Us

In the city, we were two souls governed by schedules and silence. He spoke in spreadsheets; I lived in deadlines. But here, beneath a canopy of turquoise light where gravity forgets its name, all those rigid structures dissolve into salt and sunlight.
I remember how he looked at me before we dove—a tentative smile that said more than any confession ever could. Now, floating beside him in this silent blue cathedral, I feel the gentle brush of his fingertips against my wrist. It is a small gesture, almost accidental, yet it carries the weight of years spent learning each other's rhythms.
I spin slowly through the water, my yellow skirt fluttering like a submerged petal. The world above—the noise, the expectations—is but a distant murmur. Here, I am not an employee or a daughter; I am simply me, seen in full clarity by someone who knows exactly how to wait for me.
As we glide past coral forests and silver schools of fish, he pulls me closer. There is no rush to surface. In this liquid embrace, the space between our heartbeats narrows until it vanishes entirely. We are not just swimming; we are returning home to a place that doesn't exist on any map—only in the quiet certainty that I am finally safe.

Editor: Grace