Day 4 in Bali
The afternoon unfurled like a slow exhale. Natasha and Alex wandered through the narrow lanes near the coast, the air thick with the scent of spices and sun-warmed fruit. Children darted between stalls, and somewhere a radio played a song she didn’t know but somehow remembered.
They talked less than before, but smiled more. It was an easy silence — the kind that says everything without asking for answers. At a small café overlooking the sea, they lingered over iced coffee and laughter, letting the day stretch as if it might never end.
Later, as the sun began to sink, they returned to the villa. The staff had set a small table on the terrace, surrounded by soft light and the sound of the sea beyond the trees. Dinner was simple — grilled fish, fragrant rice, a bottle of local wine glowing amber in the candlelight.
“To the last night in Bali,” Alex said, raising his glass.
“To what we found here,” Natasha replied, her smile touched with something wistful.
The conversation drifted easily, carried by the rhythm of the night. She caught herself watching the way the candlelight moved across his face — calm, unguarded, the moment utterly still. When their eyes met, the pause between them said what neither could put into words.
The kiss came naturally — unhurried, certain. A meeting of breath and warmth and quiet understanding. The kind of moment that erases all thought.
When they finally rose from the table, the lanterns swayed gently above them, their light reflected in the wine glasses left behind. Without a word, they walked together through the courtyard, the sound of the sea following them like a secret.
When they reach the Villa, she grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes. She led him to her room, she knew it was what they both wanted.
Later, Natasha would write about it her journal — the ink soft, the words slow and trembling.
The intimate reflections from that night, she would keep hidden in her private diary, tucked away between the pages meant for her and her heart to remember.
