Chloe in the Cabin

The cruise felt like penance, ten days promised to parents, anticipating stale air and mediocre meals. How wrong I was. Salt-tinged corridors twisted endlessly as I searched for my cabin, shoulders brushing against warm strangers in the dim, carpeted maze. Then, there she stood at my door, silhouetted against soft hallway light, bags pooled at her feet like shadows, a brass key catching the glow between her fingers.

We compared keys, traced the painted numbers with our eyes, and laughter bubbled up between us, breaking the ship's gentle hum.

"Now what?" Her voice carried a smile.

"Let's see the view," I murmured, "decide who claims it."

She turned the lock with a quiet click, stepping into darkness ahead of me.

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