Elias hadn't changed much.
His hair was a little longer, salt-kissed at the ends, and his face held more shadow than she remembered—but the quiet steadiness in his gaze was still there. The kind that once made Clara feel seen without ever saying a word.
"I didn't think anyone still came up here," she said.
"I come when I need quiet," he replied. "Which is often."
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and it caught Clara off guard. She had forgotten how disarming that smile could be—half boyish, half broken. For a moment, the wind filled the silence between them, as if nature itself knew to step gently here.
"I heard about your grandmother," he said, softer now. "I'm sorry. She was… kind."
Clara nodded. Her throat tightened at the mention, but she managed to whisper, "Thank you."
They stood there, side by side, not quite touching, not quite apart. The sun was sinking into the ocean now, its light brushing the clouds with strokes of gold and fire. Clara followed the horizon with her eyes, the same way her grandmother used to when painting—looking not just at the light, but into it.
"I found a box," she said after a long pause. "In the cottage. With a note. She left it for me."
"What's in it?"
"I haven't opened it yet."
Elias didn't ask why. He only looked out over the edge of the cliff and said, "Some things feel heavier before they're even touched."
The words hit her like the echo of a thought she hadn't formed yet. She folded her arms, not from the chill, but from the weight of the moment.
"I was supposed to come back years ago," she admitted. "But life got... complicated."
"It always does," he said. "But sometimes it waits for us anyway."
They turned back toward the path together. The night was creeping in now, shadows stretching long across the earth. As they walked, their steps found rhythm, falling into a silence that felt shared, not empty.
Before reaching the fork in the trail, Elias stopped. "I still live in town. Down by the harbor. If you ever… need help with the box. Or anything."
She looked at him, the cliff winds playing with strands of her hair. "Thanks. I might take you up on that."
He hesitated, then nodded, and turned to go. Clara watched him disappear into the dusk, his figure swallowed slowly by trees and memory.
When she reached the cottage again, the stars were just beginning to show—soft, flickering lights stretching across the sky like an invitation.
And for the first time in a long while, Clara felt something stir in her chest.
Not sorrow.
Not fear.
Something smaller.
Something like hope.