Leo had started coming to the beach after he quit his job.
The night he handed in his resignation, he walked with nowhere in mind — and somehow ended up here. After that, he came every morning. Sat on the sand, watched the waves, went home. That was all. And the days kept passing.
Whenever he tried to think about something, the sound of the waves quietly carried the thought away. Strangely, he didn’t mind.
One morning, a little girl sat down beside him. Six or seven years old, maybe. No sign of a parent anywhere.
She was looking out at the water, counting softly to herself.
“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty.”
“What are you counting?” Leo asked.
“The waves. If I count to a hundred, Papa will come home.”
Leo had nothing to say.
“Are you waiting for someone too?”
A small pause.
“…I don’t know.”
He answered honestly. The girl said hm, and went back to counting.
For a while they sat side by side, watching the sea in silence.
With each wave, her small voice rang out softly. Something about that sound — it slowly loosened whatever had been knotted tight inside his chest.
When she was getting close to a hundred, a voice called out from far down the beach.
“Emma!”
The girl stood up, brushed the sand from her clothes, and turned back to Leo just before she ran.
“You should count to a hundred too.”
She smiled and was gone.
Leo sat alone and looked at the waves.
“…one.”
He said it quietly, out loud.
A little while later, the black cat from the bakery came wandering down the beach. It stopped near Leo, stared out at the sea for a moment, then turned and padded back the way it came.
The waves kept coming in, and going out, the same as always.