A Love Story in the Bahamas

A Love Story in the Bahamas

The island was not an island, but a breathing memory, reshaping itself each time the sea opened its eyes to the horizon. I was there before I existed, before the sand was born, before the light learned how to carve its features upon the waves.

I saw her, and it was not a meeting, but a shift in the course of time, a correction of a mistake committed by an unknown moment when it scattered our souls in opposite directions. Her voice was not a voice but the trembling of the tide, confessing to the shore that it had searched for it for centuries without ever reaching.

She did not move closer, nor did I, but the universe collapsed the distance, time recoiled, and the moment bent upon itself to be reshaped anew. When our hands touched, it was not touch, but a cosmic combustion—an explosion of light shattering into unseen galaxies, as if the waves themselves no longer knew how to return to the sea after being consumed by fire.

The roses were not flowers, but incantations etched in the air, trembling as we passed, dissolving and reborn with every breath of love. Time did not move; it watched, hesitant to intervene, stepping back to grant us an eternity that would never suffice.

And when we left, we did not leave. We became part of the place. Her voice lingered in the evening breeze, my footsteps turned into shadows forever imprinted in the sand. The sea was no longer a sea, but an open blue book, its final page unwritten, where our story repeats with every wave, reborn anew each time the ocean dreams.

~ Firas Alwaily

Michigan