“Can you stop it? Can you stop the waves from hitting the shores, thrashing themselves upon the rocks repeatedly and yet again, trying to climb the dike that holds back the unstoppable force of devastation that aims to do no good but overflow the only sanctuary I have built for you, for your image, for your cadenced syllables, for your chuckles when someone stammers out a mediocre joke, for your gentle lean against my shoulder when exhaustion inundates your head and mind, for the exuberant ecstasy that radiates around your figure as the beats pulsate through the air, or for that time you muttered a wrongfully placed phrase at the end of a rightful flush of vulnerable exchanges under your breath, for that I could not take it anymore, regardless of how tall I stack up pieces of driftwood, how complete I seal the crevices with sea-soaked sands, and how sturdy I lock the cabin with wind-abraded metal chains, you manage to break through and tear it down every time, and I am not easily breakable, not prehistoric of you.

So can you stop it? Because for the love of God, the tsunami that comes for my sound judgment will not respect the boundary between land and sea, the principle of non-interference between the head and the mind, or the wobbly wooden shack I built for you that is trembling under the ruthless ocean breeze.”

Naush froze in front of the screen, fingers hanging atop his keyboard. Flooding his vision was waves of waves of waves of waves of wav—