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Source written for Revision Library (original, copyright-free). All characters and events are fictitious. The narrator describes a teenager, Priya, who arrives at a harbour just after the final ferry of the day has departed.
The harbour held its breath as the light drained out of the sky. Priya stood at the end of the stone pier, her scarf snapping like a flag in the wind, watching the last ferry crawl towards the horizon. It was already too far to catch. She had missed it by four minutes: four ordinary minutes that now felt like the widest sea in the world.
Behind her, the town was folding itself up for the night. Shutters clattered shut one by one, and a chain of orange streetlamps blinked awake along the harbour wall. The gulls, restless and grey, wheeled overhead and screamed at nobody in particular. Below the pier, the water slapped against the barnacled stones with a patient, hungry sound, as if the sea itself were waiting for something to fall in.
Priya pulled her coat tighter and counted the lights on the ferry: one, two, three, until they blurred into a single trembling smear of gold. Her father's voice echoed in her head, calm and infuriating as always. 'There is always another boat, Priya. There is always tomorrow.' She had believed him once. Tonight the words tasted like a lie he told himself as much as her.
The wind grew teeth. It rattled the loose corrugated roof of the fish market and sent a plastic bag cartwheeling across the cobbles: a ghost with nowhere left to haunt. Somewhere a rope, badly tied, thudded against a mast in a slow, stubborn rhythm, like a clock counting down to nothing. Priya thought of the letter folded in her pocket, its edges already soft from being read too many times, and wondered whether the tide would still be out when she was ready to read it again.
A man in a yellow coat trudged past with a bucket of mackerel, nodded once, and did not stop. Ordinary life continued around her, indifferent and unbothered, the way it always does when your whole world has just tipped sideways. Far out, the ferry's lights finally dipped below the curve of the sea, swallowed whole, and the harbour was, for a moment, entirely dark.
Then, quietly, the moon rose over the breakwater and laid a single silver path across the water, straight towards the pier, straight towards Priya, as if inviting her to walk on...