The first time we met

The sun beat down mercilessly on the sandy shore, a stark contrast to the playful chill harbored by the ocean breeze.

Whoosh

Puuu

Whoosh

The wind whispered secrets through the leaves and branches of the trees leaning precariously over the water's edge.

The waves, a rhythmic symphony of turquoise and white, crashed tirelessly upon the beach, leaving behind a frothy tapestry dotted with glistening seashells.

A young boy, no older than five, grinned triumphantly as he clutched a peculiar pink seashell in his grubby hand.

His face, a canvas splashed with sunlight filtering through the leaves, was framed by a mess of ink-black hair.

His eyes, the color of vibrant rubies, shone with an intensity that spoke of a life far more weathered than his tender years. His clothes, tattered and stained, bore silent witness to countless scrapes and scavenging expeditions.