Raman caressed my cheek as we watched the waves go back and forth in the sea. His hand smelled like sand and like himself. I turned my face a little and kissed his palm.
“You okay there, Raman?” I asked when I saw the look on his face.
“Yes.” he nodded absentmindedly.
“Why do people say that waves and the shore are like lovers? All I can see is how angry the waves are every time they reach the shore. Every time they touch it, they destroy everything it once had,” he said after a long pause, looking at the half broken castle-like thing I had tried to make for him.
“Maybe it’s just a fling,” I suggested.
“What?” he asked, clearly confused.
I laughed. “You know, maybe the shore is just too much in love with itself. It does try to make it happen with the waves though, but it eventually never does happen; the waves mess the shore up for a while every time they show up, but then the shore just goes back to what it earlier was. Maybe parts of it are now missing, gone away somewhere very far – but the shore will live, you know? It always does.”
He found my lips before I stopped talking.
“There are certain perks of dating a writer,” he said and smiled.
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