Waves between Us
900 Words
The week after the Azure Luxe Gala felt like a blur of congratulations and headlines.
Photos of Daniel’s paintings filled social media feeds. A Lagos art magazine called him “the voice of emotion in color”, and Amara’s event company received three new booking requests in one week.
For the first time in years, everything seemed to be going right.
Amara stood on the balcony of her office one sunny afternoon, overlooking the ocean. The air smelled of sea salt and fried plantain from the food vendors below. She could hear laughter from the street, the pulse of the city alive around her.
Her phone buzzed and it was Daniel.
Daniel: Can I pick you up for dinner tonight? Somewhere by the water.
Amara: Only if there’s grilled fish involved.
Daniel: Deal.
She smiled, tucking her phone away. Life felt balanced; love, career, and peace in one fragile, beautiful rhythm. But that balance was about to be tested.
That evening, they met at a quiet coastal restaurant just outside town. The sea breeze brushed their faces, and waves whispered softly against the rocks. Daniel looked happy, but there was something different in his eyes, something thoughtful.
“You’ve been quiet,” Amara said after a while. “You usually talk about your art for at least ten minutes before your food arrives.”
He smiled faintly. “You know me too well.”
“I should. What’s going on?”
He took a deep breath, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter embossed with gold at the top.
“It’s from the Paris Contemporary Art Council. They want me to feature at their international exhibition next season.”
Amara’s heart lifted with pride. “Daniel, that’s incredible! That’s huge!”
He nodded, smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“It is. But it’s also… six months in Paris.”
The words hung in the air like a wave about to break.
“Six months?” she repeated softly.
“At least. They’d cover the gallery space, accommodation, everything. It’s what I’ve worked for my whole life, Amara.”
She forced a smile. “Then you have to go.”
“You say that so easily,” he murmured.
“Because I mean it. You can’t turn down something like this. You’ve earned it.”
He studied her face, as if trying to read the thoughts behind her calm expression. “And what about us?”
Amara’s breath caught. “We’ll figure it out.”
But even as she said it, her chest tightened. She remembered the emptiness of long-distance promises, the pain of missed calls and fading affection. She’d lived that story once before and barely survived it.
“Amara,” Daniel said gently, “I don’t want this to be the thing that breaks us.”
“Then don’t let it,” she whispered.
The next few days felt strange like time had slowed down. They both went about their routines, laughing and talking as usual, but there was a quiet ache beneath every conversation.
At night, Amara would lie awake, listening to the sea beyond her window, wondering what love demanded this time; sacrifice or trust.
Tessa noticed the shift immediately.
“You’re thinking too much again,” she said one afternoon as they arranged flowers in Amara’s office.
“He’s leaving,” Amara said softly. “Paris. Six months.”
“Six months isn’t forever,” Tessa replied. “And if you two survived heartbreak and pride, you can survive distance.”
“I’m scared,” Amara admitted. “Not that he’ll forget me, but that we’ll grow apart while pretending we’re fine.”
Tessa smiled sadly. “That’s always the risk with love. But you either take the risk or lose the chance to see how strong it really is.”
Amara nodded, letting the words sink in.
The night before Daniel’s flight, they met again on the same stretch of beach where they’d first walked together months ago. The moonlight danced on the water, and the tide whispered like an old friend.
They walked in silence for a while, their hands brushing.
“I’ll miss this,” he said quietly. “The sound of home.”
“You’ll paint it,” she replied. “That’s what you do, you capture everything you love.”
He smiled. “Then I’ll have to paint you, too.”
She laughed softly, but tears shimmered in her eyes. “You already have.”
Daniel stopped walking, turning to face her. “Amara, I love you. And I’m coming back to you. That’s not a hope, it’s a promise.”
“You better,” she whispered, “because I’m not going to Paris to drag you home.”
He laughed, pulling her close. “Deal.”
Their kiss that night was long and quiet; the kind that didn’t need words.
The next morning, Amara stood at the airport gate, watching him disappear into the crowd. The loudspeaker announced flight departures, luggage wheels rolled over tiled floors, and for the first time in months, she felt the ache of goodbye.
But beneath the ache was something stronger; faith.
Because this time, love wasn’t built on illusion. It was built on truth.
And though there would be miles of ocean between them soon, she believed that what they had was strong enough to cross it.
- Writer
