You weren’t the kind of guy who took cruises. He liked quiet, predictable things—books, spreadsheets, your morning coffee at the same café. But when your sister gifted you a solo ticket for the “Sunset Serenade Cruise” for yourbirthday, youreluctantly packed you bags and boarded the ship with a mix of skepticism and mild seasickness.

It was the third night out at sea, just after dinner, when u saw her.

She was standing alone at the railing, wind teasing her long curlyhair, eyes locked on the moonlit waves. There was something cinematic about her—like she had stepped out of a movie and onto the deck.

Youhovered awkwardly nearby before finally speaking. “Beautiful night, huh?”

She turned, smiling like she already knew him. “It is. It feels like the world’s holding its breath.”

Her name was Demitra. She said it like a secret, voice smooth and lilting. She was Greek-Canadian , a freelance photographer traveling the world in fragments—never in a straight line. You’dtalked about everything and nothing, leaning over the rails with stars overhead and the hum of the ship around them.

Over the next few days, you guy kept running into each other—on purpose, then on accident-on-purpose. Morning yoga youdidn’t know youcould do. A cooking class where you’ burned everything but laughed harder than you had in months. Sunset drinks that lingered until the moon took over the sky.

Demitra had a way of making ordinary things feel rare. She told stories with her hands. She asked questions like she wanted to hear your soul. And you—found yourself opening up, forgetting the life you’d left onshore.

The night before the cruise ended, you guys snuck up to the top deck at 2 a.m. with a stolen bottle of wine and a blanket. The stars stretched endlessly above you guy

“What happens when we get off this boat?” You asked quietly.

Demitra leaned her head on your shoulder. “Well, that depends,” she said.“Do you believe in shorelines, or possibilities?”

You looked at her, this woman who showed up like a tide and pulled you in.