UNENDING

36- Fiji

-ASIYA-

The warm sun bathed the sandy shore of Como Laucala in a golden glow as the gentle waves lapped against my ankles. Al-Qasim's hand was wrapped around mine, pulling me toward the ocean, his laughter echoing through the air as I giggled and tried to flee his grip.

"Come on, we won't go that deep," he urged, a mischievous smile lighting up his face.

"I don't want to," I replied, trying to sound annoyed, but the laughter bubbling up inside me made it impossible.

Before I could protest any further, he gave one final tug, and I stumbled into the water, the cool ocean caressing my legs as the hem of my dress floated around me. The sudden chill made me squeal, and in retaliation, I bent down, scooped up some water, and flung it at him.

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with playful mischief, and quickly mimicked my action, splashing me back. The waterfight that followed was inevitable, each splash drawing out more laughter, more joy, until we were both soaked. My dress clung to my skin, heavy with water, while Al-Qasim, in his swim trunks, looked utterly unbothered.

"Not fair!" I pouted, flopping onto the sand. "My dress is all wet now."

He chuckled and sat down beside me, brushing a strand of wet hair from my face. "I'm sorry," he said, leaning in to kiss my forehead. "But you look adorable."

I sighed, falling back onto the sand, feeling the tiny grains stick to my wet skin. Normally, I would've been worried about creepy crawlies or the discomfort of sand everywhere, but in that moment, I didn't care. I was happy. Genuinely, inexplicably happy.

"I've always wanted to go to the beach," I found myself admitting, my voice soft, almost lost in the sound of the waves. The confession felt strange, like revealing a secret I hadn't even fully acknowledged until now.

Al-Qasim turned to me, his expression gentle, urging me to continue.

"When I was thirteen," I began, staring up at the sky, "my father had a deal go right, some business thing. He took my mother and sister to Hawaii to celebrate. They left me home, alone."

There was a heaviness in my chest, an old wound that hadn't quite healed, and it ached as I spoke. I hadn't thought about that trip in years, hadn't allowed myself to dwell on it. But here, on this beach with Al-Qasim, it felt safe to bring those memories to the surface.

"I spent that week watching movies about beaches, looking at pictures online, imagining what it would be like to feel the sand between my toes, to hear the ocean." I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to continue.

There was a long silence after that, the only sound the rhythmic crashing of the waves. I didn't dare look at him. I didn't want to see the pity in his eyes. I'd seen that look too many times before from too many people. I didn't need it from him.

But then I felt his hand slip into mine, warm and reassuring, grounding me in the present. He didn't say anything, didn't try to fill the silence with empty words. He just held my hand, letting me know that he was there, that he understood.

"It must have been hard," he finally said, his voice low and soothing.

I nodded, blinking back the tears that had gathered in my eyes. "It was," I whispered. "But being here with you... it's like I'm rewriting those memories. Creating something new, something good."

He squeezed my hand, and I finally turned to look at him. There was no pity in his eyes, only a deep, unspoken understanding. I saw a reflection of my own pain, my own longing.