She stood in the doorway, camera in hand, hair damp from sea mist. Older now. So was he.
“I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” she said.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” he replied, voice low, steady.
She stepped closer, eyes scanning the room. On the wall, among faded maps and tide charts, hung a photo - her photo. Him, years ago, watching the horizon.
“I thought you’d throw it away.”
“I almost did,” he said. “But it reminded me that someone saw me. Really saw me.”
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