Page 23 of Rescuing Mia
Here, in the vibrant chaos, I’m just another traveler, another soul on a journey of self-discovery. Yet, even as I mentally chastise myself, a part of me can’t fully let go of the training that has defined so much of my life.
It’s then, as I adjust my grip on a particularly stubborn bag, that I catch sight of a figure that seems so out of place.
It’s her.
My breath catches in my throat.
The woman from yesterday.
She’s dressed simply, her clothes hinting at practicality yet clinging softly to her slender frame. Her beauty is as striking as I remember, effortless and natural amidst the ruggedness of the marina.
Her movements are chaotic, however. Her attention jumps from one face to the next with a paranoia that speaks of unease, like a scared little mouse.
Her skittishness strikes a chord within me, igniting a protective instinct I thought I’d left behind with my military service. There’s an immediate shift in my focus; all thoughts of heavy gear and personal discomfort fade into the background.
It’s an odd juxtaposition—the serene beauty of her features against the underlying tension that radiates outward from her.
She’s unaware of my scrutiny, lost in her own world of wariness, and I want to step into that world, to understand and perhaps ease the tension I see in her slender frame.
She turns, her dark hair catching the light, a cascade of black silk brushing her shoulders and tumbling all the way down to herdelicate waist. For a moment, she looks vulnerable and incredibly lost.
The sight stirs something in me: a desire not just to know her story but to be a part of it, to understand what drives that nervous glance, what stories lie hidden behind those expressive eyes.
The nervous energy she exudes is palpable. She glances over her shoulder once more, her movements quick and almost panicked. Leaving me to wonder—who or what is she looking for?
Or is it something she’s running from?
I move toward her, drawn by a force I can’t quite explain, but before I can take more than a few steps, a loud whistle pierces the air.
TheSerenityis preparing to depart.
The woman travels light, with a small backpack slung backward over her chest—a sharp relief to my own gear, which threatens to overwhelm me with its sheer volume.
She’s attractive, undeniably so, and while my initial interest may have been piqued by her looks, it’s the mystery, the hint of a story waiting to be told, that holds my attention.
I’m not against getting to know her better—far from it.
When she suddenly catches my eye, there’s a fleeting moment of connection, a spark that sends a jolt of electricity shooting through me. Something stirs my curiosity—a flicker of fear, of uncertainty that vanishes as quickly as it appears.
But then…
She quickly looks away, breaking the spell, but the impression she leaves behind is indelible.
Under different circumstances, I would introduce myself and see where the night might lead us, butSerenitywaits for no man.
I hesitate, torn between the woman who has captured my imagination and the adventure I’ve been dreaming of for so long.
The call of the ocean is a different kind of siren song, promising discovery and the peace that comes with immersion in the underwater world.
With a last, lingering glance at the woman, I etch the image ofthe skittish, mysterious beauty into my mind, captivated and intrigued by a woman I don’t know and will likely never see again.
I hoist my gear and make my way toward the boat.
The crew calls for boarding, and the bustle of activity draws me back to the present. I gather my gear, my heart racing with anticipation as I step onto the gangplank.
This trip promises to be an adventure unlike any other, with the potential for something that could change the course of my life in ways I never imagined.
As I board, however, I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the last I’ll see of the woman with the haunted eyes.