The pier was quieter than usual.
It was late afternoon—that in-between hour when the crowds thinned and the sky turned from blue to silver. The air was cool, touched by salt and ocean mist. The sound of waves folding into sand came steady and low, like a slow heartbeat beneath the wooden planks.
Ryunosuke sat near the far end of the pier, sketchbook open across his knees. His pencil moved without urgency—just lines and shapes, trying to find the curve of the shoreline, the way the light clung to the edge of the waves.
He wasn't thinking much.Not about the restaurant.Not about school.Just the sea.That was why he came: to let the city fall off his shoulders, to let the tide carry whatever weight he couldn't name.
"Your waves are wrong."
The voice came soft. Curious. Not accusing—more like someone gently interrupting a dream.
Ryunosuke looked up.
She stood just to his right. Petite. Elegant. Framed against the sea like a figure from a forgotten story. Her coat was a pale lavender, catching the breeze like silk. Her hair moved with the wind, yet never seemed disheveled. She held nothing. No phone. No purse.
Just… stood there.
But what struck him most were her eyes.
Violet.Vivid, yet soft.Like wine seen through water.
"I'm sorry?" he said, caught between confusion and curiosity.
She tilted her head slightly, then pointed—not at him, but at the sketch. "You draw well. But you made the water too honest."
He blinked. "Too honest?"
She nodded, thoughtful. "The ocean lies, you know. It reflects what you want to see. If you draw it as it is… it stops being the ocean."
He stared at her, unsure how to respond. The words shouldn't have meant much—but they did. They reached under the paper, past the graphite, and touched something quieter.
"I'll keep that in mind," he said with a dry smile.
She smiled back—faintly. "Do you come here often?"
"Sometimes. To draw."
"I like it here, too," she said. "People forget things near water. It's easier to be someone else."
He paused. "Is that what you're doing?"
She looked at him then—really looked.And for a moment, he felt read. Not seen, not judged. Read.
"Maybe," she said softly. "Or maybe I'm just curious."
A gull cried overhead.Somewhere behind them, a carousel groaned to life with slow, tinny music.
Ryunosuke looked down at his sketchbook.
When he looked back up, she was already walking away. Small, deliberate steps. Heels clicking lightly against the wooden planks.
He watched her go, half-expecting her to look back.
She didn't.
But even after she disappeared into the thinning crowd, the air still felt changed. Like time had shifted half a beat. Like something had happened—and he had already missed it.
He looked down at his sketch again.
The waves were wrong.