Her dress flowed in the sea breeze, and she looked just like an angel. My angel.
The sun was low by the time they made it to the coast.
Not golden-hour low.
Just... soft.
Warm enough to touch your skin without burning it.
Bright enough to make the ocean glitter.
It was a weekday. The crowd was light.
Elias parked the truck, got out, and waited.
Liana didn't move at first.
Just stared at the waves.
He remembered this scene before—
A different version.
Two years ago, he brought her here.
Same beach. Same stretch of sand.
She didn't get out of the truck that time.
Didn't unbuckle her seatbelt.
Just sat there, curled into herself like leaving the passenger seat might unravel her.
He didn't push.
Didn't ask.
He just stepped out, opened her door, and stood there.
He remembered her face.
How pale she was.
How tightly her hands clutched the seatbelt across her chest.
And how, after a long ten minutes, she whispered,
"I don't like water."
But now he knew it's not true.
She was just too scared back then.
Today was different.
Today, she got out before he asked.
No swimsuit. No towel.
Just sandals, a long dress, a hat.
Everything safe. Covered.
She wasn't going swimming.
He hadn't expected her to.
But she walked.
Beside him.
And that was everything.
The sand shifted under their steps.
They didn't talk much.
Didn't need to.
Liana kicked at the edge of the surf, not quite letting the water touch her shoes.
She scanned the sand like she was looking for treasure.
Elias walked half a step behind her.
Always just close enough, but not too close.
She bent down to pick up a piece of sea glass.
Held it up to the sun.
"It's green," she said.
Her voice still surprised him, sometimes.
When she chose to speak.
When she let him hear what was in her head.
He nodded. "That means it used to be beer."
She looked at him, confused.
"Beer bottles," he clarified. "Most of the green ones come from that."
She turned the glass in her hand.
He gently took it from her. "Don't cut yourself."
She found a shell a few minutes later.
Not a perfect one.
But big enough to curl a fingertip into.
"I used to collect these," she said.
He glanced over.
"I had a jar. When I was little."
"What happened to it?"
She shrugged. "Gone."
She didn't elaborate.
He didn't ask.
They walked a little more.
At some point, she reached out.
Not suddenly.
Not deliberately.
Her hand just… brushed his arm.
Then didn't leave.
Her fingers closed lightly around the crook of his elbow.
He didn't stop walking.
Didn't look at her.
But he noticed.
He noticed everything.
Her steps got slower.
But not hesitant.
Just—calmer.
Like holding onto him helped her move forward.
They found a driftwood log a few meters off the main trail and sat down.
Waves crashed—far enough not to threaten, but close enough to drown out the world.
Elias rested his forearms on his knees.
Liana sat beside him, quiet, knees tucked to her chest.
Her hair was caught in the wind, strands sticking to her cheek.
He reached into his jacket pocket and offered her a hair tie.
She blinked at it, surprised.
Then took it wordlessly and tied her hair back.
That silence between them—it wasn't heavy anymore.
It felt like routine.
Like trust.
Like home.
She leaned against him, slowly.
Shoulder to bicep.
Nothing dramatic.
But she stayed there.
His heart beat once. Hard.
Then settled.
"You used to be bigger," she said.
He glanced at her.
"What?"
She nodded at his arm. "You were more... huge before."
He scoffed. "Gee, thanks."
"No, I mean—still big. But less scary now."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying I've lost my edge?"
She gave him a sideways look.
"I'm saying maybe I'm not as scared of you anymore."
That landed heavier than it should have.
He didn't answer.
Because that...
That meant more than she probably realized.
They sat in silence again.
Until she said—
"Do you think people can outgrow fear?"
He looked at her.
"Depends," he said. "Fear of what?"
She thought for a moment.
Then shook her head. "I don't know."
But he could tell she did.
She was thinking of something very specific.
Maybe many things.
He didn't press.
Didn't fill the silence.
He just let her lean.
Let her stay.
And when she slipped her hand into his a minute later—
Fingers curling, not tight, but certain—
He didn't stop her.
He didn't say a word.
He just let her hold on.