the dunes
1281 Words
The wind was stronger the next day, rattling my windows and carrying that sharp scent of salt and storm. I told myself I wasn’t going to the beach. I had errands. I had laundry. I had… plenty of reasons to stay away.
But by evening, my feet were already carrying me down the familiar path.
I didn’t go to the bench. Not at first.
Instead, I veered toward the dunes.
From up close, they were taller than I remembered — thick with grass that whispered against my jeans as I climbed. My shoes sank into the sand, each step harder than the last.
I kept expecting to see someone.
Him, maybe. Or that figure I’d glimpsed the night before.
But there was nothing. Just the wind.
---
Halfway up, I found it — a shallow hollow in the sand, almost hidden by grass. It wasn’t natural. Someone had cleared it out.
Inside was a small pile of things.
A faded map.
A cracked leather-bound notebook.
And an old Polaroid camera, the kind you couldn’t find in stores anymore.
I crouched, brushing sand off the map. It was of the coastline, but… wrong. Certain landmarks were missing. Others were circled in red.
The notebook’s pages were covered in sketches of the night sky. Stars, constellations, streaks of meteor trails — all labeled with dates and times. And at the bottom of one page, in small, deliberate handwriting:
Not much time left.
---
My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
I picked up the Polaroid. The film slot still held a picture — half-developed. I shook it out of instinct, though I knew you weren’t supposed to.
The image came in slowly.
The bench.
And me, sitting there alone.
---
A sudden crunch of sand made me spin.
Arka stood at the top of the dune, his silhouette framed by the fading light. He didn’t look surprised to see me.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was calm, but there was something tight in it.
“I could ask you the same,” I said, holding up the notebook.
His eyes flicked to it, then back to me. “That’s not yours.”
“No,” I said, my pulse still hammering, “but you left it here.”
A pause.
He took a step closer. “You shouldn’t have found this.”
---
I don’t know what I expected him to say after that — an explanation, a laugh, something to make this less strange — but instead he reached out, took the notebook from my hand, and tucked it into his jacket.
The wind picked up, whipping sand against my ankles.
“Come on,” he said finally. “It’s getting dark.”
I followed him back down the dunes without another word, but every step felt heavier, as if the sand was trying to keep me there.
---
When we reached the path, he stopped.
“You can’t tell anyone about what you saw.”
“Why not?” I asked.
He looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“Because they wouldn’t believe you.”
---
That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling, the sound of the waves carrying through the open window.
In my mind, I saw the Polaroid again — my own figure frozen under the sky. But now there was something else I noticed.
In the corner of the frame, half-hidden in shadow…
a second figure.
Standing in the dunes.
The storm lasted through the night.
Wind rattled my windows until I thought the glass might crack. Every few minutes, lightning flashed, turning my apartment pale blue for a second before plunging it back into darkness.
I should’ve been asleep. Instead, I sat curled up on the couch in Arka’s hoodie, scrolling aimlessly through my phone — until I remembered something.
The photo.
He’d taken it on the bench. Me, looking at the horizon.
I hadn’t asked to see it, but now I wanted to. Needed to. Like it might answer a question I didn’t even know how to ask.
---
The rain stopped just before dawn.
The air smelled sharp, clean, like the world had been rinsed.
I didn’t even wait for coffee — just threw on my shoes and headed to the beach. The sand was darker from the rain, compacted under my feet. Puddles gleamed in the dips between the dunes, reflecting a sky the color of slate.
The bench was empty. No surprise.
But then, movement — far down the shoreline, near the rocks.
Arka.
---
He had his camera out, kneeling low, focused on something near the ground. From this distance, I couldn’t tell what it was.
I should’ve called out. Instead, I stayed still, half-hidden behind the dune grass.
After a minute, he straightened, scanning the beach. His gaze swept past me once, twice, like he knew I was there but didn’t want to call me out.
Then he walked toward the tide line, crouched again, and started digging.
---
The hole wasn’t deep, but his movements were quick, practiced — like someone burying or unearthing something fragile.
When he stood, I caught a flash of it in his hands: a small metal case, the kind you’d expect to hold film reels or old negatives.
He looked at it for a long moment, then slipped it into his backpack and headed toward the dunes.
---
I didn’t follow right away. My pulse was thudding too hard, my brain scrambling through every possible explanation — all of them leaning far from normal.
When I finally moved, keeping low, I caught sight of him disappearing into a narrow path I hadn’t noticed before. The grass there was bent in the middle, as if it had been walked on many times.
I followed.
---
The path wound deeper into the dunes until the beach was just a strip of silver behind me. The air was quieter here, muffled by the tall grass. Then I heard voices.
Two of them.
Arka’s, low but sharp.
And hers — the woman from yesterday.
“…you can’t keep stalling,” she was saying. “You know what happens if you wait too long.”
“I’m not stalling,” he replied. “I’m being careful.”
“You don’t have the luxury of careful anymore.”
---
A gull cried overhead, masking the next few words. I edged closer, careful not to snap any twigs.
“…already looking for it,” she said. “And now you’ve got her hanging around—”
“That’s not a problem,” Arka cut in.
“You don’t know that.”
His voice dropped lower, too soft to catch.
---
I must’ve leaned forward too far because the next thing I knew, the wet sand shifted under my foot with a loud crunch.
Silence.
Then: “Rania?”
I froze.
Arka stepped into view, the woman a shadow behind him. He was watching me, unreadable, one hand still on his camera strap.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said for the third time. But this time, his tone wasn’t warning.
It was something closer to… resignation.
---
The woman stepped up beside him, her gaze hard.
“You have a choice,” she told him. “Right now.”
Arka didn’t answer.
The wind picked up, rattling the grass. Somewhere in the distance, a wave crashed.
And then he turned to me. “Come with me. I’ll explain.”
---
I didn’t move. My mind screamed at me to walk away — but my feet didn’t listen.
Because the way he said it…
it felt like stepping forward might change everything.
- Writer
