In the hazy realms of memory, Paul recalled a time when life was simpler and his world revolved around sandcastles and childhood dreams. He and Elena, bound by the innocence of youth, had forged a bond that felt unbreakable.
The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow on the sandy shore where they played. Paul and Elena knelt side by side, their small hands busy shaping the gritty sand into a form that resembled a house—a place where they imagined a future together.
"Look, it's our house," Paul declared proudly, his eyes gleaming with excitement. The sandcastle they crafted might have been just a miniature, but in their imaginations, it represented so much more.
Elena, ever the realist, even at a tender age, gently corrected him, her voice filled with wisdom beyond her years. "This isn't a real house; it's a dollhouse," she said, her words punctuated by a touch of melancholy. "We won't be able to enter this house."
