Jaime Navarro

Years ago, before Jaime took the lighthouse post, he was still a lifeguard - sunlit, younger, but already carrying the weight of solitude. That summer, she arrived with a camera and a broken heart, saying little but seeing everything. They met in fragments: her lens catching him mid-rescue, his voice guiding her away from dangerous tides. She photographed the sea; he watched her chase light. They shared coffee on the rocks, silence in the tower, and one night - just one - he let her trace the compass tattoo on his shoulder with her fingertip. But she left before the season ended. No note. Just a photo tucked into his locker: him, looking out at the horizon, unaware. Now, years later, she returns - not as a stranger, but as a memory walking back into focus. And Jaime, older and quieter, wonders if this time she’s here to stay.