apricot

It was just before dawn, after the rain had stopped. The old harbor streets were empty, touched only by the slow movement of sea wind and fading neon reflections on wet pavement. Unable to sleep, he wandered into a small jazz bar near the water. Most of the lights were already dimmed. By the window sat a girl, quietly staring at the sea. She looked as if she had always belonged there. Damp hair resting on her shoulders, a cup of cold coffee untouched beside her, pale blue light drifting across the glass. She seemed like someone waiting for something— or perhaps someone who had already stopped waiting long ago. They did not talk very much. A few scattered words, long silences, the sound of distant waves beyond the harbor. Sometimes she answered questions with strange, unrelated thoughts. Sometimes she only smiled softly, as if distracted by something far away. Yet the silence between them never felt uncomfortable. As the night slowly faded, the fog above the water began to thin. Small lights drifted quietly across the sea. “The ocean,” she said at last, “always notices the end of the night a little too late.” For some reason, he felt that moment would remain with him forever. Just before sunrise, she stood up from her seat. She never said where she was going. When the door opened, cold salt air flowed briefly into the room. Then she disappeared into the pale blue morning light, walking slowly toward the harbor. Only the scent of the sea and a half-finished cup of coffee remained behind.