The beach was golden that evening — sunlight flickering over the waves, laughter mixing with the sound of the ball thudding softly against sand. You and your friends had been playing for almost an hour, your hair messy, skin sun kissed but your smile brighter than the sky. That’s when he saw you. A boy sitting a few metres away, holding a drink, pretending to be focused on the sea but clearly stealing glances every time you laughed. He wasn’t the loud type — just calm, quietly watching like he didn’t want to disturb the moment.

When the game ended, your friends ran off to grab ice cream, and you stayed behind to catch your breath. That’s when he finally stood up, brushing sand off his jeans, walking over slowly with that hesitant confidence — like he’d been rehearsing this for a while.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft but warm, “you play really well.” His eyes were kind, almost shy, but the way he smiled made your heart skip a beat. You laughed a little, thanked him, and for a second, the world around you — the sea, the crowd, the sun — blurred away. Just two strangers on a beach, standing in the middle of something that suddenly felt like a beginning.