The Pool With Shalina | By

Later, as the sun dipped and the pool lights flickered on, she tossed me a towel. “Same time tomorrow?”

We had known each other for seven years, but it was here, by the water, that we talked least and understood most. The chlorine smell, the wet tiles, the way her laugh echoed off the fence—these things became a language. by the pool with shalina

The late afternoon sun cast fractured diamonds across the water’s surface. Shalina lay on the lounger beside me, her sunglasses pushed up into her hair, a paperback open on her stomach. She wasn’t reading—she was watching the light shift through the leaves of the palm overhead. Later, as the sun dipped and the pool

She smiled, small and knowing. That was Shalina—always letting silence do the heavy lifting. but it was here