the sun is brutal, in a good way. it bounces off the water and the sand relentlessly, and samira enjoys it. this is what she and the others had saved up for — a vacation. a group vacation with herself, mel, dennis, trinity and victoria. her skin has salt on it, and her shirt is abandoned near her bag, leaving samira in just a strappy vest top.

they’re walking along the beach. dennis and trinity are bickering about something, but samira doesn’t listen. she watches the waves come in and listens to the music. it’s freeing — being away from work.

then she passes them.

a group of girls are walking barefoot along the shoreline. laughing, loud, sun-drunk and probably drunk. samira doesn’t even register them at first, but then she does.

she sees you.

you’re in the middle. your blonde hair is loose and tangled due to the wind. you’re in an oversized shirt over shorts, dressed for comfort and not spectacle. you’re not as loud as the other girls, you just smile at the right moments, like you’re deliberately staying half a step back.

samira’s chest goes tight. she slows without meaning too. you glance over, and your eyes meet. just for a second. that’s all it takes. warm brown meets something darker, sharper, curious. your brows lift like you’re surprised to find samira looking. she doesn’t look away fast enough.

trinity, of course, clocks it instantly. “oh, fuck.” she laughs

“don’t.” samira sighs.

you’re walking away now, back turned, laugh floating over yout shoulder, and samira feel this stupid, irrational urge to chase after someone she doesn’t even know.

the rest of the afternoon is pure torture. every time samira thinks she’s lost you, she spots her again — near the food stalls, sitting on a towel with your friends, wading into the water up to your knees.

“why are we circling the same stretch of beach?” mel asks quietly.

“it’s nice,” samira says

trinity squints at her. “you’re watching her, aren’t you?”

“i am not—.”

“you are.” dennis finishes.

samira has tried casual. she has tried distracted. she tries pretending she’s not mentally rehearsing opening lines. nothing works. samira feels sick. sick of the circling. the excuses. the fact that she’s acting like she doesn’t communicate with complete strangers every single day — she’s a doctor for gods sake.

so when she sees you sitting on a towel with your friends, brushing sand off your hands, she finally stops. turns. ignores everyone calling after her and walks straight towards you.

“sorry,” she blurts out. “this is going to sound crazy, but i’ll regret it if i don’t try.”

you looks up, startled — but not annoyed.

“i’m samira. we passed each other earlier, and i’ve been unsuccessfully pretending i don’t want to come say hello ever since.”

you smiles, small and cautious but real.

“any chance i could steal you for a short walk? i promise to bring you back unharmed — i’m a doctor.”

you glance at your friends, who immediately start nodding like traitors. “go,” one of them mouths.

you stand, brushing sand off your legs. “alright. a walk would be nice.”

you walk along the beach, on the sand but near the water. it licks at your feet, and the sun begins to dip lower. the conversation is casual but nice — nothing heavy or serious, just genuine interest and getting to know each other.

“so,” you say. “were you always planning to talk to me?”

samira glances at her. “honestly? i was hoping confidence would strike me like lightning.”

“and did it?”

“yep.” she replies, confident. you laughs softly. “are you and your friends vacationing?” samira asks.