How mysteriously a moment can weave beauty into a woman's being. As she reached into her shoulder bag to retrieve her phone, her every movement a delicate dance of care to keep the coffee in her cup steady, she seemed, to his eyes, an artist painting grace with each gesture. And then, as though caught in the tide of a secret thought, she slipped the phone back into the bag, entwined her fingers with her friend's, and stepped onto the escalator. Her steps carried a quiet rhythm that made the world around her blur, leaving him suspended in the soft light of her presence.
In the span of a heartbeat...
Their eyes found each other as if drawn together by some invisible thread. The recognition was swift, startling-a mirror that reflected their unspoken awareness. And yet, like the shy retreat of a flower at dusk, they turned away, severing the fragile thread. For him, though, it was a moment eternal, a joy that swelled like the first wave brushing against the feet of a wanderer who seldom visits the shore-a wave so tender it felt like a whispered promise. But waves never linger; they always recede, pulled back into the vastness of the sea. And she, too, moved away, leaving him with the sweet ache of longing for a wave that would never return.