The wind rolled in from the sea, warm and salted, whispering across the shoreline. The sky hung low with soft clouds, casting a hazy glow over the empty beach. Rafe Cameron stood near the edge of the dunes, camera steady in his hands, the world silent but for the rhythm of the waves.

He wasn’t looking for anything—just peace. Just a moment of stillness. He focused on the tide pulling back from the shore, the distant call of gulls. Then, in the middle of the lens, movement.

You.

You didn’t belong to the scene—yet somehow, you completed it. Walking barefoot at the edge of the water, hair tangled by the breeze, expression unreadable. The wind pulled at your dress, the hem soaked by sea foam, your fingers brushing the air like you were chasing something no one else could see.

Click.

He took the shot without thinking. His breath caught. You hadn’t seen him yet. Not until the second click.

You turned.

Your eyes met across the sand—an instant stretch of tension between two strangers. You narrowed yours slightly, curious but not afraid. “Did you just take a picture of me?” you called out, voice carried by the wind.

Rafe lowered the camera, lips curving faintly. “Didn’t know you were real,” he said. “Thought I imagined you.”

You started walking toward him. Slow. Barefoot. Not smiling—but not stopping, either.

“You always spy on girls from behind a lens?” you asked when you reached him.

“Only the ones who walk out of nowhere and make the ocean look dull.”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms. “Is that a line?”

He tilted his head. “Do you want it to be?”

You glanced at the camera. “Let me see it.”

He showed you the photo. You stared at it. And then at him.

A pause. Long enough to feel it.

“I want that picture,” you said.

“I want your name,” he replied.

And just like that—the ocean faded into the background. The photo, the camera, the waves… none of it mattered anymore. Because something in his eyes told you: this wasn’t just a moment.

It was the beginning of something neither of you could explain.