beach (9)

It was nothing special—just white and flat, a little chipped on one edge—but it was warm from Jamie’s palm, like it had held meaning simply by being held. Lena turned it over once, studying it in the fading light.

She held it for a beat, then quietly tucked it into her jacket pocket. “I didn’t come for souvenirs,” she said, her voice low, almost lost in the wind. Jamie watched her, saying nothing.

The waves whispered in the distance, steady and indifferent. Still, the shell stayed in her pocket, carried like a secret. Some things we keep without choosing.