⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

The afternoon sun sat low over the water, turning the whole coastline gold. The drink shack stood just off the sand—weathered blue paint, a hand-painted sign that read ISLAND SIPS, strings of shells and old bottle caps clinking softly in the breeze. A radio behind the counter hummed something slow and mellow. Two kids in damp swim trunks were leaning over the counter, arguing about shaved ice.

Down the beach, a figure jogged out of the surf, board tucked under one arm, hair dripping. He shook his head like a dog, scattering water, then started up the sand—straight toward the stand.