The next day felt different—not because of him,
but because of where I was.
I was out.
Far from routine.
Far from conversations that needed decoding.
“Just went to a lighthouse… very strong wind 😁”
And it really was.
The kind of wind that doesn’t just touch you—
it pushes you.
It messes up your hair,
your balance, even your thoughts.
I sent him a video—
waves crashing, the sky stretching endlessly.
That quiet kind of beauty that doesn’t need words.
But of course, he noticed something else.
“It is like a new hairstyle 🤣”
I laughed.
Not the ocean, not the view—my hair.
Still, he added,
“The beauty at the back is so relaxing.”
That part felt better.
Like he was trying to meet me where I was.
For a moment, it was simple.
Just sharing. Just being.
“Have a great time, Joyce.”
I thanked him and continued my day.
While I was out exploring, he was still in bed.
“Scratching my back… struggling to get up coz of laziness 🤣”
The contrast made me smile.
I was out in strong winds chasing views,
and he was wrapped in comfort, delaying the day.
“You already spent half your day,” he said.
It wasn’t judgment—just observation.
By midday, I sent another glimpse.
“Biking around an island.”
A simple moment.
“The ocean is calling you,” he said.
That line stayed with me.
Simple, but it felt like something more.
Then the weather shifted—fast.
Rain came suddenly.
The wind grew stronger.
The sky turned restless.
I kept going.
“I slipped a bit… have a minor scratch…”
Nothing serious.
Just one of those small moments that become part of the story later.
“These minor scratches are the memories to this beautiful day.”
I paused. That was actually nice.
“True — even if it hurts.”
And it did.
A little physically,
a little more in the way long days sometimes do.
By late afternoon, the sea had changed.
Darker.
Stronger.
“There’s a cyclone coming.”
Morning had been bright.
Now everything felt uncertain.
“It changed in the afternoon.”
“Really beautiful,” he said.
And he wasn’t wrong.
Some things are beautiful even when they’re a little dangerous.
I told him where I was —
where the Indian Ocean meets the Southern Ocean.
He tried to follow, not quite getting it, but close enough.
Then I asked something I had been wondering about.
“What’s your DP? Is that one of your gods? Shiva?”
“Yes, it is Lord Shiva.”
I responded, maybe a little too honestly.
“You have so many gods… and some strange-looking ones too.”
“Every god has a story behind his form,” he said.
That answer felt calm.
Grounded.
Different from the intensity he showed before.
Then came another shift.
“It would be really awesome to have a trip with you.”
There it was again —
that quiet leap forward from conversation into imagination.
I didn’t respond directly.
Instead, I showed him where I was—
back in the city.
Lights, movement, noise.
“Yep, back to the city.”
It felt like returning to myself.
“There are actually a lot of Indians here,” I added.
“You can find Indians everywhere 🤣”
And just like that, we were back to something light again.
But underneath it, I was starting to notice a pattern—
how quickly he moved between things.
From deep stories, to teasing, to future plans, to casual conversation.
Like someone shifting between different versions of himself.
And me—somewhere in between—
watching, responding, but not fully stepping in.
Because that day taught me something.
The ocean can look calm in the morning—
and turn unpredictable by afternoon.
And sometimes, people are not so different.
~
I noticed it in
the way he said things.
The way he shifted so easily
from one mood to another.
Like I was only seeing pieces of him…
never the full picture.
And for the first time that day —
I wondered quietly:
Which version of him is real?
~
Next Post:
Previous Post:
Comments
Post a Comment
Thank u (^_^)