Read Chapter 4 The Pull of Two Tides - Between the waves and you

It's Saturday when I spot him again. The town is buzzing with summer-kids yelling, seagulls snagging fries, someone strumming a guitar by the cafe. I'm on a bench with a sketchbook, trying to trace the curve of the tide.

"Still drawing the things you can't say?"

His voice makes my pencil pause.

I look up. Noah is there, sun-kissed and smiling that uneven grin that used to wreck me.

I exhale. "You remember that?"

"How could I forget?" He sits beside me, leaving space between us as if on purpose. "You used to

say it was easier to draw feelings than to talk about them."

"I still think that," I say. "Talking ruins things sometimes."

"Or fixes them," he says, watching the waves. I stay quiet.

The silence stretches, but it isn't awkward. It's heavy with memory.

He leans back. "My mom used to say people come back here when they need forgiveness."

"From who?"

"From themselves."

I watch him fiddle with the edge of his shirt. He's still the kid who couldn't sit still when the truth got close.

"What about you?" |ask softly. "Did you come back for forgiveness, too?"

He looks at me-really looks-and something in his face makes the air feel heavy. "Maybe I came back for you," he says.

Then it's quiet again. The kind of quiet that

holds everything unsaid.

Later that afternoon, I walk the pier to clear my head. The light on the water sparkles like a secret. My sketchbook feels heavy.

Almost at the end, someone calls behind me.

"Thought l'd find you here."

Eli.

He's barefoot, a surfboard under one arm, hair still wet from the ocean. There's something about him that always feels like freedom.

"You always show up when I'm trying to think," l tease.

"Then maybe you think too much"" he says, smiling.

"Maybe."

He sets the board on the sand and sits on the railing beside me. "So... the guy from the cafe- Noah, right? You two go way back?"

I hesitate. "Yeah. Way back."

He studies my face, then nods. "He looks like a storm you haven't decided whether to run from

or dance in."

That makes me laugh, even though it shouldn't.

"Riddles again?"

"Only when I don't want to say the wrong thing," he says lightly. Then, more serious: "You look different when you talk about him."

"Different how?"

"Like you're remembering something you can't hold anymore."

I don't know what to say. He's right.

Eli pulls a small seashell bracelet from his backpack-simple but pretty, blue and white beads.

"Made this this morning," he says, handing it to me. "For luck. Or maybe because it looked like you."

I take it; my finger brushes his. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he says with a grin. "You haven't seen if it works."

I slip it on. It fits perfectly.

When I look up, he's watching me-not with the heavy memory Noah has, but softly, like he sees

me as l am now.

And for a moment, I breathe.

That evening I see Noah again. He's outside the docks, the sunset painting the sky behind him.

His shirt is damp, his hair a mess, and he looks more real than in memory.

He notices the bracelet on my wrist. "New?"

"Yeah. Eli made it."

There's a flicker in his expression-quick, small, sharp enough to notice.

"He seems... nice," Noah says after a moment.

"He is."

"I'm glad," he says, but the words don't quite land.

Then softly: "I don't want to be someone you have to forget to move on."

I study him. The sea roars behind us, steady and endless.

"Noah"" I whisper, "I don't think I ever really did forget."

He steps closer. The air between us feels like it

might crack.

But before either of us says more, a gust of wind sweeps in, sand swirling between us.

It's almost poetic-the sea interrupting us, a reminder that this story isn't finished, but it isn't simple either.

The wind dies down, leaving a heavy quiet right before the sky lets go of its last light.

Noah stuffs his hands in his pockets. "You staying long this time?"

"I don't know," I say. "Every time I try to plan, the sea changes it for me."

He barely smiles. "That sounds like you."

We walk along the edge of the docks. The planks creak under our feet, gulls circle above. Salt and diesel fill the air.

"I never told you what happened after you left," he says suddenly.

I look up. His voice is soft and careful.

"I figured you didn't want to know," | answer.

"I wanted to tell you," he says. "I just didn't think I had the right."

The wind through his hair, his face lit by the fading light. Older now, but still him.

"My mom died that fall,' he says quietly. "I thought I could handle it, but I didn't. I pushed everyone away. I stopped calling because every time I picked up the phone I didn't know how to be the person you remembered."

My breath catches. "Noah..."

He shrugs, eyes shining. "It's okav. It was a long

time ago. But I thought you should know why."

I reach for his hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"You couldn't have," he says. Then softer: "But I thought about you every day. I wondered if you'd ever come back, or if Bellharbor was something you'd outgrown."

I manage a small, trembling smile. "I thought maybe I had. But here I am."

"Here you are," he echoes.

The tide rolls in, brushing the dock's edge. It sounds like soft applause.

When I pull my hand away, the warmth lingers.

That night, I sit on the cottage porch steps. The moon is low, silvering the sea. The town hums in the distance-music, laughter, life.

I touch Eli's seashell bracelet on my wrist. Beads catch the moonlight.

It feels like a question I'm not ready to answer.

Somewhere down the beach I hear Eli's laughter, bright even in the dark.

He's with a group near a bonfire. A guitar, smoke and salt in the air.

He spots me and waves. "Come join us!"

I hesitate, then walk toward the light.

The bonfire crackles as I approach. Eli moves aside with a grin. "Never thought you'd actually come."

"You're persistent," | say.

"Or maybe you needed a reason," he says.

We sit in the sand, the fire's glow painting us gold and red. Behind us the waves keep time.

A girl with a ukulele starts a soft song. Eli leans closer so I can hear him over the music. "You looked sad earlier."

"I wasn't sad," I say, though I don't quite believe it.

He studies me. "You don't have to pretend around me. I'm not trying to be anyone for you."

The words surprise me-no pressure, just honesty.

"I know," I whisper.

He smiles. "Good."

We fall quiet, watching the fire. The warmth sinks in, loosening something | didn't realize was tight.

Later, when the fire dies and others drift away.

Eli offers to walk me back. Moon on the water, night smelling of smoke and sea spray.

"You really love this place," he says.

"I used to," I say. "Then I thought I hated it.

Now... I don't know."

"Maybe it's not about the place," he says.

"Maybe it's about who you were when you were here."

I glance at him. "You've thought about that."

He shrugs. "I move a lot. Every time I leave, I leave a version of myself behind. Sometimes I go back to see if that person is still waiting."

I smile softly. "Maybe that's what I'm doing."

"Then I hope you find her," he says.

Something in his tone makes me pause.

Moonlight on his face-gentle, sure, unafraid.

He steps closer, not too close, just close enough.

"And if you can't find her, maybe she's not lost.

Maybe she's changing."

The words sit between us, fragile and real.

For a moment I forget to breathe.

By the time I reach the cottage, the sky starts to pale. I pause on the porch, listening to the sea.

Two voices echo in my mind -Noah's, heavy with history; Eli's, warm with possibility.

Two tides pulling in different directions.

And me-caught between, trying not to drown in what the sea remembers and what it still promises.

Chapter 4 The Pull of Two Tides

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