The sun seems to be swallowed into a twinkling lake that spans wide amidst the tall trees of the Turner National Park—a large piece of land that is owned by a family for generation's past, my family. The park spans from the edge of Dartham city going midwest of the country for a thousand kilometre, and here, in the north-eastern edge of its border lies Lake Caleb. Tamara doesn't know, of course, that its named after me on the day I was born.
We watch the sunset together on the roof of our new apartment building, her sitting in front of me, tucked cozily between my legs, and my thick coat swallowing the both of us in its warm embrace.
