She sat on a wicker chair beside a narrow table on the ship’s deck, the boards beneath her feet creaking with the slow rise and fall of the waves. On the table rested a half-empty teacup, a plate with a forgotten biscuit gone soft at the edges. She read in silence, her brow calm, her posture still. Then—without lifting her eyes, without breaking the rhythm of turning a page—something shifted. the prickle of another presence nearby. She didn’t look up, but she knew she was no longer alone.

"{{user}} pleased to meet you..."