Chapter 8: What the Sea Left Behind
The sea had always been loud in the mornings, but today it felt quieter, as if even the waves were holding their breath with her. Julia sat by the dorm window, chin resting on her knees, watching the sunlight spill lazily over the water. The air smelled like salt and damp sand the scent of yesterday's promise.
She hadn't slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it again the way the morning light touched Junior's face, how the wind carried his laugh, soft and fleeting. And then that look, the one that said everything neither of them could say aloud. It kept replaying in her mind, not like a memory, but like a wound that refused to close.
She whispered to herself, I made a promise, as if saying it out loud might remind her heart what it meant. But promises, she was starting to realize, didn't just bind words they tied souls. And hers was tied to him, no matter how much she tried to untangle it.
Classes went on like usual, voices echoing down the hallways, friends teasing each other about the upcoming exams, teachers pretending everything was normal. But for Julia, everything had changed. Even laughter sounded different now lighter, maybe, but distant.
At lunch, she sat alone for the first time. Her best friend, Lihle, had noticed her silence since the trip. You good, Jules? she'd asked yesterday, touching her arm gently. Julia had only smiled. The kind of smile that hides things. The kind that says, I'm fine when you're not.
Now, as she picked at her food, her phone buzzed. A message. Her heart skipped but it wasn't him. Just the class group chat. She stared at the screen a moment longer, almost disappointed by the truth. He hadn't texted her. Not even once.
Maybe that was part of the promise too silence.
That night, she walked down to the shore alone. The wind tugged at her hoodie, the sand cool under her bare feet. She stood where the water reached for her ankles and whispered, You carried my promise, didn't you? The sea didn't answer, but the tide seemed to rise just a little, brushing against her toes like a reply.
She closed her eyes and breathed. Every inhale felt heavier with memories his laughter, his gaze, his hand brushing hers that morning.
When she opened them again, she saw a small shell resting at her feet, pale and perfect, like it had been waiting for her. She bent down, picked it up, and turned it over in her palm. It was cracked down one side, but still beautiful.
Just like the promise, she thought.
Julia tucked the shell into her pocket and turned back toward the dorms, the moon hanging behind her like a watchful witness. She didn't know when they'd speak again, or if they ever would. But as the waves whispered behind her, she knew something had been left behind that morning not just words, not just feelings, but a piece of herself.
And maybe, she thought, that's what love really was not what you keep, but what the sea takes from you and never returns.
The night deepened, wrapping her in quiet. And for the first time since that morning, Julia didn't feel like she had to run from the ache. She just let it be.
Because promises didn't always fad sometimes, they echoed.