As Elora's delicate hands reshapes the sandcastle once more, I sit back, watching her with quiet admiration. There is something about the way she does things—effortlessly, yet with such profound purpose. She isn't just building a castle; she is proving a point. That nothing ever truly fades. Not even us.
The fire from the camp dimly flickered in the distance, laughter and the soft hum of a guitar filling the salty air. The waves continues their relentless dance, teasing the shore, stealing bits of the castle only for Elora to reclaim them again.
"You know, you can help instead of just staring," she tease, flicking a handful of sand at me.
I smirk, brushing it off my jeans. "I'd rather admire the masterpiece."
"The castle or me?" she asks playfully, arching an eyebrow.
"Both."
She chuckles, her laughter like a melody I never want to forget. "Smooth talker."
I reach out, taking her wrist gently, pulling her closer. "Elora."
