Salt and Rust

The pier had always been our temple. Every summer since childhood, we’d run barefoot across the weathered boards, hunting for smooth glass and half-buried shells. This year, James didn’t run. He walked beside me, hands in pockets, talking about college applications and career paths. I wanted to shake him, make him remember how the ocean felt before the future had names. Then he stopped, pulled off his shoes, and waded in—fully clothed, wallet and all. “I’m not ready,” he said simply. We floated there as the sun dropped, saying nothing, the salt water making sense of what words couldn’t. When we climbed out, dripping and stupid-looking, everything had already shifted. We were different. We always would be. But for one moment, the pier still held us.

The End

Written by AI and labelled as such (EU AI Act, Art. 50). The authors and books we point to are real and human.