ONCE UPON THE PACIFIC
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Chapter Six: The Echoes We Carry
Some memories don't whisper. They thunder through the silence of the present.
The breeze that brushed Milo's face had changed. It was no longer salty and sharp — it was soft… familiar. The kind of wind that came through open windows on quiet mornings. The kind Eliora used to say carried secrets from the sea.
He blinked, and the mist cleared.
He was no longer on the island's ridge.
He was standing in front of their old cottage, nestled between wildflowers and sand dunes — the place they'd once called "home, even if only borrowed." The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over everything. And there she was — Eliora — laughing, barefoot, chasing a paper kite that refused to fly.
Milo's breath caught.
He didn't question it. He couldn't. He just ran toward her.
"Eliora!"
She turned. "Finally! You're late. As always."
That voice. That smile. That mischief in her eyes — like time had never touched her. Like she had never faded in hospital rooms. Like she hadn't vanished into silence.
They talked. About nothing and everything.
She poured him tea that tasted like jasmine and nostalgia.
He watched the way the sunlight danced in her hair.
He forgot to question if any of it was real.
For a moment, he allowed his heart to rest.
But just as the kettle let out its second whistle, the sky shifted. The golden turned grey. The wind grew cold.
Eliora stood at the window, silent. Watching waves rise like something was coming — something old, something final.
"You remember this day now, don't you?" she whispered.
Milo's lips trembled. "This… this is the day you—"
She turned, tears already brimming. "The day everything changed."
And then it all spilled:
The night she collapsed in his arms.
The rushed letters to distant healers.
The legends of a tide that could bend time, undo fate.
Her begging him to stay, not to chase ghosts.
His promise — the one he couldn't keep.
"You were always chasing the 'what ifs,' Milo," she said, stepping closer. "But I only ever wanted you to live... even if it meant letting go of me."
He sank to his knees, tears blurring her face. "I thought I could bring you back... through stories, through the sea..."
She knelt beside him. "I was never gone, love. Just waiting for you to stop running."
A sudden gust flung the door open.
The storm had arrived — not outside, but inside him.
Memories collapsing. The cottage flickering like a dying candle flame.
He reached for her —
But she was already fading, wind threading through her silhouette.
"Milo…"
Her voice echoed like waves crashing against time.
"Live. And when you write of us, write with peace in your heart."
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He woke up — heart pounding, face soaked with tears, lying in the sand. The journal beside him was open…
But now, between the old pages, something new:
A wilted forget-me-not flower — her favorite.
One that hadn't been there before.
And under it, scribbled in a trembling hand:
> "The tides may take, but love returns in echoes."
— E.
To be continued....
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