That night, the wind died. The sea lay flat as glass.
Berfe was the quiet one who read tide patterns like poetry. Ece laughed too loud and climbed trees when she was nervous. Talin carried a worn-out compass her grandfather had given her, though she never needed it to find her way home. berfe ece talin
Berfe, Ece, and Talin had grown up in the same coastal town, where the sea painted every memory in shades of turquoise and salt. They were fifteen that summer — old enough to crave freedom, young enough to still believe in signs. That night, the wind died
And Ece’s laugh, carried on a breeze that smells faintly of lilac honey. berfe ece talin