Ara Yeo cherished her peace,
nestled far from the city's ceaseless clamor.
Her haven was the shoreline,
a place where the whispers of the sea spoke more of solitude than sorrow.
But when the sea surrenders a lifeless form,
will her sanctuary of...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The muted morning light filtered through her curtains, carrying with it the salt air that gently stirred the light fabric, sweeping it along with the breeze the day offered.
Slender fingers attempted to shield her eyes from the light as she rolled over, face smothering itself into the soft pillow—a retreat into the comfort.
The side of her bed-ridden face eventually peeked through, watching as the sunlit dust danced along the expanse of her cramped room.
The bustling market just a short walk from her home, housing her stall of vivid paintings, would have surely managed without her presence for a day.
She had entrusted her space to Deborah, the kind-hearted lady who greeted her with unwavering smiles each morning as she stepped foot in the market.
Ara had asked the lady of her careful guidance as she had been feeling sick, the illness only relenting from her exhausted body the night before.
Despite the nagging feeling that whispered to her of her need to stay at home for one more day, she figured that she shouldn't keep Deborah any longer from her own stall that she manages.
She was grateful that she had not encountered any living being on her day of rest as she was utterly miserable, a scowl painting her face for most of the day.
As her sandals clamored to trudge against the rocky path strewn with shells and sand, leading her toward the clamor of the market, she paused, casting a sincere smile at the scene she was about to join—just as soon as she caught her breath.
"Ara, my dear!" The voice was instantly familiar, drawing a broad smile across her sun kissed face. "How're you? Old Debbie told me you've been under the weather."
Her response had been slightly muffled due to the large man encasing her with a hug, the lingering scent of fish on his worn out shirt assaulting her senses.
"Don't you worry about me, Alfie." She grinned at the old man that had acted as her father figure, "I'm all better now, nothing I can't handle."
He released her with a gentle pat on the back, returning a smile as bright as the one she had flashed him, slightly pushing her forward as he made his way to his own stall that showcased what he had caught earlier in the morning.
As Ara made her way to her own stall, she offered a grateful smile to Deborah, who was diligently tending to her vibrant flowers that shone with morning dew.
Squeezing past, she teasingly nudged Deborah's grandson, Cillian, who had been busy arranging bouquets for the line of eager visitors waiting before them.
The boy, a few years Ara's junior, cast a scornful, yet playful glare her way. With a mischievous grin, the freckled boy picked up a discarded stem and gently stabbed it against Ara's back. The unexpected impact causing a boisterous laugh to escape her chest.
The commotion caught Deborah's sharp attention, her gaze piercing into her grandson like a pointed arrow.
Cillian, sensing the impending lecture, scrambled for an excuse as his hands flailed in front of him in an attempt to shield himself. Nearby, Ara struggled to suppress a smile, barely managing to keep her amusement under wraps.
As Cillian stuttered through his explanation, the corners of Deborah's mouth twitched, signaling a mix of frustration and amusement.
Ara finally let a smile break through her face, her laughter light and contagious, softening the sternness in Deborah's eyes.
With a gentle sigh, the old lady waved her grandson off, the expression she held showcasing more of adoration rather than angry reluctance.
"Excuse me."
A refined voice drew Ara's attention to the woman standing before her, cheeks crinkling as she admired a painting propped on an easel.
The piece—a view of the coast as seen from her own living room window—held the woman's keen gaze.
Looking up, the lady met Ara's eyes with an appreciative glimmer. "There's something about your work that perfectly captures the essence of a light summer breeze," she remarked, her eyes twinkling as they returned to the painting.
Ara tilted her head, observing the painting anew as a stray lock of hair slipped from behind her ear. "Thank you," she responded, her voice imbued with warmth and a touch of flattery. "It felt exactly as you described when I had painted it."
The woman nodded, her attention captivated by the painting. "Impressive," she mused, "I'd like to purchase this piece."
As the two women discussed the details of the purchase, the serene ambiance of Ara's work infused the bustling market's atmosphere with a sense of tranquility, attracting a steady stream of onlookers and buyers throughout the busy summer day.
As dusk situated itself among the market and the sky melted into shades of deep blue and soft purple, the energy that had once filled the market started to wind down.
Glowing lanterns swayed gently along the evening breeze brought by the ocean, casting a warm glow over the vendors that had been packing up, illuminating the tired yet contentment that shone on their faces from a day's work.
Ara carefully wrapped her paintings, the translucent paper crackling as she tied it around her work, hands lingering on the frames.
The lingering sickness she had felt seemed to evaporate the moment Ara stepped into the lively market, the familiar cacophony and comforting energy rooting her back to health.
Though she felt much better, she couldn't ignore the toll the day had taken on her freshly recovered body.
Her eyes caught Alfie, laboring under the weight of a crate likely filled with fish from the odour it emitted. Smile blossoming on her face, she called out a goodbye, matching her words with an eager wave.
"See you, Alfie!"
The lines on his face deepened into a smile as he returned her gesture. "See you, Ara, dear!" His voice, weary from the day's efforts, carried as he continued his task.
Ara, satisfied, turned back to her barren stall, Deborah catching her contented gaze.
"Good day, darling?" Deborah asked, her voice warm. She was clutching a large knitted bag, one that Ara recognized as her own handiwork gifted some time ago.
"It was wonderful, thank you," Ara replied, her smile softening as she watched Cillian drape an arm around his grandmother, leaving a quick kiss on her forehead before departing with his own set of bags.
Passing her, Cillian playfully nudged Ara's side with a mischievous grin, a reference to her earlier assault on the boy. She flinched but offered no retaliation, merely rolling her eyes and nodding as a chuckle released from her chest.
"See you," she responded with a curt smile.
As the market emptied and Ara gathered her paintings to leave, the cool breeze, amplified by the ocean, washed over her, bringing a wave of soothing fatigue.
Her steps were slow and thoughtful as she neared her home, sandals lingering on the sand beneath her.
Pausing to look out at the ocean, dimly lit by the moon, she could swear she spotted a motionless figure on the coast.
It was too dark to be certain, yet a persistent, nagging unease pulled at her chest as she entered her home.
Without a moment's hesitation, Ara dropped her artworks to the floor and retrieved a flashlight from above the dusty cupboard.
Gripped by a sense of urgency, she hurried back to the beach to investigate what she had taken a glimpse of.
