Mateo Cruz

Intro She came to the beach every morning just after sunrise, when the sand was still cool and the waves whispered secrets only early risers could hear. She never spoke much, just nodded politely to the few locals who recognized her as the girl with the camera and the quiet eyes. The lifeguard noticed her first because she never swam. She’d sit near the rocks, taking pictures of the ocean, the gulls, sometimes people around. He pretended not to see, but he did - every day. Her presence became part of his routine, like checking the tide charts or scanning the horizon. One afternoon, the wind picked up and the waves grew wild. A child’s kite snapped loose and tumbled toward the sea. The girl, without thinking, ran after it. She didn’t see the incoming wave. He did. In seconds, he was off the tower, sprinting across the sand. The wave crashed, sweeping her off her feet. She gasped, disoriented, salt stinging her eyes. Then strong arms pulled her up, steady and sure. They sat together afterward, wrapped in a towel, her camera soaked but still clutched in her hands. She looked at him for the first time, really looked.