In the inky night, I couldn't read his face. His lips parted slightly like he was about to say something, but then his phone buzzed again.
The screen lit up with one word: Mom.
He let go of me without hesitation, walked a dozen meters away, and answered the call.
It lasted maybe five minutes, tops. But to me, it felt like a lifetime.
The sea breeze hit me the whole time, and my once warm heart slowly went cold. When I finally snapped back to reality, he was walking back after hanging up. I beat him to the punch, saying, “Forget it. No matter how pretty this place is, it can’t compete with memories. Coming back here never really means anything. The world’s huge—plenty more beautiful places out there.”
Same goes for men. He’s not the only decent one around. Nostalgia usually
