Lost at Sea || Shawmila [Completed]

do you ever stop and think about me?

He had just returned home after a long day on the fishing boat, and even though it was early evening, the sky was pitch dark. He lit the stove, hoping the warmth of the fire would quickly thaw the bone-chilling cold from the ten hours he spent on the ocean waves. He washed himself vigorously, rubbing the soap to ensure he eliminated every trace of that fishy smell that had accompanied him for years. His raincoat was now saturated with it, and there was nothing he could do to get rid of it; he just hoped his own skin wouldn't suffer the same fate. He got dressed, putting on a warm and soft flannel shirt that smelled of freshly laundered clothes, then went to the kitchen and opened a can of soup, which he heated on the stove.

He had just swallowed the last spoonful of the hot liquid when he heard a knock. Shawn got up and crossed the short distance to the front door. When he opened it, he was greeted with an unusual sight. Outside, snow had begun to fall, and the light flakes were barely noticeable around the glow of the street lamps. The air was cold, and he was glad he still wasn't on the boat.

In this winter scene stood a delicate figure wrapped in a thick fur coat, her large eyes fixed on him with a mix of uncertainty and fear. Shawn didn't know what to do. He had heard of her return to Harbor Cove a few weeks ago, but he never expected to find her standing at his doorstep. She looked the same as always, the same woman he had continued to admire from magazine covers or on the television screens displayed in shop windows, the same woman who had left him just a few years before.

He stepped aside and gestured for her to come in, his voice not yet steady enough to speak to her. Camila smiled gently, one of those many smiles that only she could give. He led her to the kitchen, the only room warm enough to accommodate her, and turned his back as he filled the kettle for tea. It was strange to have her there, in his small house, sitting at his table, coming for who knows what reason. But he didn't regret it - God knows how many times he had prayed for the chance to talk to her just one more time. So he cleared his throat and greeted her, and the years of distance seemed to melt away in just a few minutes.

They sat around the table, facing each other, sipping from their mugs and smiling warmly at each other. Shawn listened to her speak, his eyes fixed on her with admiration. Camila talked and talked, telling him about the years after college, her life in New York, meetings with publishers, paparazzi, and Hollywood actors. The world she described seemed light-years away from Harbor Cove, a world that Shawn had only seen on cinema screens or in magazine pages. It was absurd how two people born and raised in the same town - two people who had shared so many experiences together - could have such different lives.

Afterall, Shawn wasn't so surprised. Even though he and Camila had known each other forever, he knew very well that they didn't belong to the same place. He remembered vividly how, back in school, he would pass her by, the sweet scent of cleanliness emanating from her perfectly ironed clothes, the satin ribbons collecting her chocolate curls, the patent leather shoes tapping and accentuating each of her steps. Not many could afford to look so luxurious. Shawn knew it, just as Camila did, yet neither of them had ever allowed their obvious social differences to become an insurmountable obstacle between them.

In the end, time had taken its revenge. Camila had left that small town in Maine, and Shawn had watched her go. There was nothing he could do to stop the course of events, so watching was all he could do. He watched her leave Harbor Cove, he watched her come back for holidays until even those brief visits ended, he watched her publish her first poetry collections and end up on the pages of newspapers. He watched her enter the New York high society, just as her mother had always wanted, become a prominent figure, and fall in love with an actor.

And now she was there, in front of him, sitting at the simple table in his kitchen while holding a cup of hot tea in her hands. She was beautiful just like the girl he had seen portrayed on magazine covers, even without the sheen of makeup or the dazzling spotlights. Would Shawn ever stop seeing her like this, as if he had drunk a love potion, as if no one else existed but her?

With Camila just a few steps away from him, he realized that there hadn't been a day he hadn't thought about her. At first, he spent hours imagining what she was doing, who she spent her time with. Then over the years, Camila's presence in his mind transformed into fleeting thoughts, brief flashes that pierced his day, reminding him that the woman he loved was no longer by his side. And while she now spoke non-stop, almost trying to fill the silence that hung over their heads like an impending storm, a doubt arose in his mind for the first time ever. "Have you ever stopped and think about me?"

He wasn't sure if that question was coherent with Camila's conversation. To be honest, he had lost himself in his thoughts and hadn't paid much attention to her, and the puzzled expression on her face confirmed it. Shawn repeated the question and tried to modulate his voice as best he could. He didn't mean to sound accusing.

Camila cleared her throat, her gaze suddenly evasive. "Of course, Shawn." He scrutinized her, searching for a trace of deception on her face, but he found none. Yes, Camila had probably thought about him. Maybe not always. Surely, he wouldn't have been her first thought in the morning and the last before going to bed, but he was quite certain that his face had appeared to her on some occasion, perhaps among the many memories they had collected together. He couldn't be sure.

Light knocks on the door broke the bubble that had brought them closer, bringing them back to harsh reality. Shawn apologized and approached the front door. He opened it to find a face he saw very often. A pair of large dark, coffee-colored eyes were fixed on him. Auburn hair neatly combed into a braid framed a pale face dotted with freckles, while a warm smile revealed the pair of dimples that dented the woman's cheeks who was standing at the door. She stepped forward and, as usual, planted a quick kiss on Shawn's lips, oblivious to Camila's presence in the next room.

The woman made her way to the kitchen, carrying the blueberry pie she had prepared, the one Shawn loved so much. In a few steps, however, she noticed the presence of the other woman in the house, a woman who looked at her in astonishment with those dark eyes that now stood out against a suddenly pale face.

Camila got up from the table, smoothed the non-existent wrinkles of her dress, and tried to smile politely. "I won't linger any longer. Thank you for the tea, Shawn." She greeted the unknown woman with a nod and quickly walked past her, slipping into her fur coat and heading briskly toward the door.

Shawn didn't have time to protest before she had already taken the first steps on the light layer of snow that had settled on the solitary sidewalk outside. He stood and stared at her back covered in fur for a few moments, watching her walk quickly under the dim light of the street lamps. Then he felt a delicate hand rest on his shoulder, and he was pulled inside, closing the door behind him.