chept 1

Isla had always been alone, but not in the way most people think of loneliness. She wasn’t without friends or companions, but there was something about her that kept others at a distance—something intangible, something invisible. People often said she was beautiful, though she couldn’t understand why. To Isla, beauty felt like a curse. It was a mask people wore to cover their real selves, a reason for people to love her for what they saw and not for who she was.

Her beauty was like the moon—radiant, ethereal, untouchable. She had long, silken hair the color of dark honey, eyes that shifted like the ocean under a stormy sky, and skin so pale it looked as though it had never seen the sun. She lived in a small town by the sea, a town that had grown used to her presence. She wasn’t a stranger, but she wasn’t fully known either. People would wave at her on the street, but most avoided looking her in the eye for too long, afraid of what they might see there.

The house she lived in was old, perched on a hill overlooking the water. It had been her mother’s house, and before that, her grandmother’s. Now, it belonged to Isla, though she never quite felt it was hers. The rooms were vast and silent, filled with dust and the scent of faded memories. The furniture was antique, a mix of worn velvet and polished wood, like a museum where no one came to visit.

Isla spent most of her days by the window. It was her favorite place in the house, the large bay window that framed the endless stretch of ocean beyond. The waves would crash on the rocks below, their sound like a lullaby she could never escape. There, she would sit for hours, watching the world outside—the fishermen hauling in their catches, the gulls circling in the sky, the children running along the beach. It was a world full of life, but she was an outsider, separated by the thick glass of her window and the silence of her thoughts.

She’d sometimes try to leave the house, but the streets always felt like a maze of unfamiliar faces. People would look at her, but never really *see* her. At the local café, the barista would give her the same sad smile, as though she were an antique doll—beautiful, yes, but delicate and out of place. She tried to be part of the world, but it was like trying to fit a puzzle piece into a shape that didn’t match.

Every evening, she would return to her window. She would stare at the ocean until the sky darkened and the stars blinked into existence. It was during these quiet, still moments that she felt the most alive—when the world seemed far away, and she could almost believe that she was a part of it, even though she wasn’t.

One evening, as she sat in her usual spot, she noticed something unusual—a figure on the beach. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light, a shadow cast by the setting sun. But as she leaned closer, she saw that it was a man. He was walking along the shore, his figure tall and lean, his movements deliberate and graceful. His face was turned towards the sea, but there was something in his posture that intrigued her—a sense of deep thought, of solitude that mirrored her own.

He didn’t seem to notice her watching him from the window, and she was almost glad for that. Isla had never been one to attract attention. But there was something about this man that made her feel… seen, in a way that no one else had. He didn’t look at her like she was an object to be admired, but like she was a person, someone worthy of noticing.

Days passed, and Isla found herself returning to the window every evening, hoping to catch a glimpse of him again. She began to wonder if he came to the beach at the same time each day, if he had become a part of her routine as much as the waves. Eventually, she spotted him again—this time, not walking, but sitting on the sand, gazing out at the horizon. He looked so alone, so consumed by his thoughts, that Isla felt a strange connection to him. She wanted to go down there, to speak to him, to ask him who he was and what had brought him to this lonely stretch of shore. But she didn’t.

One evening, after days of watching from the safety of her window, Isla made a decision. She would walk to the beach. It felt like an impossible step, one that would shatter the fragile barrier between her and the world, but she did it anyway.

The air was cool, the salty breeze carrying the scent of the sea. Her footsteps crunched on the sand as she made her way towards the man, who hadn’t yet noticed her approach. When she was close enough, she hesitated. She wanted to turn around, to return to the safety of her house, but something inside her urged her forward.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice soft, unsure.

The man turned towards her, and for the first time, their eyes met. He looked at her as though he hadn’t expected anyone to speak to him. His eyes were dark, deep like the ocean at night, and for a moment, Isla felt herself drowning in their depth.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back, feeling self-conscious. “I just… I see you here a lot. I don’t mean to intrude.”

He smiled then, a slow, understanding smile. “It’s alright,” he said, his voice deep and calm. “I come here to think. Sometimes the sea helps me remember who I am.”

Isla didn’t know how to respond to that. The idea of the sea helping someone remember who they were seemed both strange and beautiful to her. She had always felt that the sea was more a reminder of how small and insignificant she was, a vastness that seemed to swallow everything in its path.

“Do you come here often?” he asked her, breaking the silence.

Isla nodded. “Every day,” she said. “I like to watch the waves. They remind me of something I can’t quite explain.”

He studied her for a moment, as though weighing her words. “I think I understand,” he said softly. “Sometimes, we find solace in places that don’t ask anything of us.”

She was quiet for a long while, and for the first time, Isla didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with words. It felt comfortable, this stillness between them. The waves crashed in the distance, and the wind whispered around them. She wasn’t alone, not anymore. For a moment, there was someone who understood.

And that, Isla thought, was the most beautiful thing she had ever found.

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