Backlighting

At the edge of the village, where the road stretched toward the horizon, Miguel and Rosa stood waiting for a ride to a small, solitary beach—a haven to escape the lingering September heat.  “There’s one. Stop it,” Miguel said.  Rosa raised her hand, and a screeching halt broke the quiet. They hurried to the car.
“Can you take us to the beach?” Miguel asked.
“Get in,” replied the driver, his prominent beard catching the light. “Stopped for your beard. Don’t see many these days,” he added with a grin, stroking his own. 
 
The winding road carried them swiftly away from the city, closer to the solitude they craved. At the beach, they thanked the driver, who vanished in a cloud of dust, leaving only tire tracks behind. Rosa exhaled, relieved to be free of the breakneck speed. They followed a dirt path down to the shore, smiling at its emptiness. It was a weekday evening, just past six, and the deserted beach was exactly what they’d hoped for. In the early days of their bond, they needed this shared solitude to uncover each other’s depths.
 
They settled on the sand near some rocks, spreading their towels. In their swimsuits, Miguel slipped off his watch, casting aside time itself. For someone who battled the clock daily, this was his victory. They lit a cigarette, drawing on it slowly, savoring each moment. “Why rush? That’s for others,” they thought. They lingered on the overlooked: the smoke curling into the air, the rhythmic kiss of waves on the shore, the weary sun warming their skin, the electric brush of each other’s hands. “It’s love—a static spark,” they mused silently. They were a perfect fit: trivial to those too jaded to dream, everything to them, who saw life’s true measure.
The cigarette burned out.
“Shall we swim?” Miguel offered.  They sprang up. Miguel’s methodical nature tamed Rosa’s wild impulses, while she softened his rigidity when needed. “Everything in its time,” he often said. They raced to the water, splashing foam with each step. At waist-deep, they dove in.
“Bloody hell, it’s full of seaweed!” Miguel shouted.  Rosa laughed, dodging him in the water. They played, chasing without catching, until exhaustion drew them back to shore. Miguel grumbled about the red seaweed clinging to his legs. “Disgusting!”  Hand in hand, they waded toward the sun, its low rays turning the sea into a shimmering mirror.
“We’ve got to capture this light,” Miguel said, eyeing the perfect conditions for photos.
“Wait,” Rosa murmured.  She wanted to drink in the moment, to fill the hollows left by days before him. Her skin glowed like the water, alive with the same radiance.
“Your refractive index is off the charts,” Miguel teased, reading her thoughts.  They reached the shore. Miguel shook off the seaweed with exaggerated hops, and they paused, gazing into each other’s eyes. Words piled up unspoken, held back by the weight of emotion. Their lips drew near. A rogue wave crashed over them, burying them in foam. Laughing, they crawled to the sand, their teeth glinting in the sunlight. On the shore, they stared at the boundless sea.  “Let’s move a bit,” Miguel suggested.  They ran along the water’s edge, stomping the dying waves. Back at their towels, Miguel dried his hands and grabbed his camera. He framed Rosa through the lens, chasing new angles, contrasts, profiles, backlit silhouettes. Each shot was a bid to freeze her essence, to make the moment eternal.
 
The sun sank below the horizon, and a quiet sadness settled over them. They dressed, gathered their things, and trudged back to the road. Night enveloped them, but the sea’s last glimmers lingered in their minds. A car stopped, and they returned to the city, slower now. Through the window, the day slipped away—yet something endured in their hearts. And in the photographs, of course. Sometimes, even technology holds a piece of the soul.
 

A chance encounter will take him far away, on a thrilling adventure full of action and emotion that will change his life... but also the lives of everyone around him…
“Fleeing into silence”: https://a.co/d/7SUfVb3