The sea breeze lifted her long hair. She reached up and tucked a strand behind her ear, the motion natural and graceful.
Lin Mu didn't look at her. He kept gazing at the dark horizon, the plastic stick of the lollipop in his mouth swaying gently as he spoke:
"Psychologically speaking, cheerful, sunny people don't usually come to the beach alone to stare into space. And they certainly don't wear the expression you had just now."
He paused, his voice still calm:
"If something's weighing on you, you can tell me about it. Think of me as a tree hollow you can vent into. You'll feel better once you've said it out loud."
Kikyo Kushida fell silent.
Without thinking, she picked at the rust on the railing with her fingers, again and again.
Her smile slowly faded, though it didn't disappear entirely. Instead, it turned into something more complicated—part smile, part bitter laugh.
The sea breeze kept blowing, carrying its salty dampness.
After a long while, she spoke softly. Her voice was much quieter than before, and much more genuine:
"Lin Mu... look at the sea."
She held out a hand, pointing toward the endless dark water before them:
"On the surface, it sparkles in the moonlight, gentle and peaceful, so beautiful you can't take your eyes off it."
Her fingertips trembled slightly.
"But who knows... how much darkness and how many secrets lie in its depths?"
Her voice was so soft it nearly dissolved into the sound of the waves:
"It's so vast that no one can truly understand it. Sometimes it's calm, and sometimes it surges.
"On the surface, it seems gentle and accepting, but below there may be currents, whirlpools, abysses... and countless things swallowed up and buried."
She turned her head to look at Lin Mu.