The ocean is different in the early morning.
Most people only see it during the day - when the beach is crowded, the sun is high, and everything feels loud.
But this version of the ocean is quieter.
Honest.
I paddle out past the break just as the sun begins to climb over the horizon, the water cold against my skin. The salt stings my eyes slightly, but the rhythm of the waves settles something in my chest.
Surfing has always done that. It calms me, calms my mind.
When everything else gets messy… the ocean makes sense.
I catch the first wave of the morning, riding it cleanly toward shore before paddling back out again.
And this time, I'm not alone.
Autumn sits on the sand near the shoreline, wrapped in my jacket again, sketchbook balanced on her knees.
Watching.
The sight hits me harder than I expect.
No one's ever watched me surf like that before - not with quiet curiosity, not with that soft focus in their eyes like they're trying to memorize every movement.
I ride another wave, longer this time.
When I reach the shore again, she looks up immediately.
"You're good," she says.
I laugh, brushing water from my hair. "That's one way to put it."
"How long have you been surfing?"
"Since I could walk really."
Her pencil moves quickly across the page.
"What are you drawing?" I ask.
"You."
I blink.
"You're sketching me surfing?"
She shrugs casually. "You make for interesting lines."
I sit beside her in the sand, leaning over slightly to see.
The drawing is rough but alive - motion captured in a few confident strokes.
"That's… actually really good!"
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not."
But the truth is - Watching her draw me like that feels strangely intimate.
Like she sees something in me most people miss.
And I realize something then.
This thing between us?
It's not just complicated anymore.
It's becoming real.