25-10-2025, 12:11 PM
Scene 3, The Shelter (First Day: Afternoon)
By late afternoon, the heat began to fade, leaving the air heavy and still, thick with salt, seaweed, and damp wood. Long shadows of palm leaves swayed across the sand like ghostly fingers, and the sound of the sea had softened into a slow, steady murmur, a rhythm like quiet breathing.
Naveen and Kavya had been walking for hours, tracing the coastline in widening circles. Every stretch of beach looked the same, fragments of wreckage, bits of clothing, and lifeless coconuts bobbing lazily near the shore. Yet something deep inside them refused to stop searching. Hope, stubborn and small, flickered in their chests.
Every few minutes, Naveen would pause and listen, his doctor’s mind cataloguing sounds, a faint splash, a rustle of leaves, the distant, mournful cry of a bird, but nothing human answered. Kavya’s steps slowed. Her left ankle was swollen, twisting slightly with every step, yet she didn’t complain. Instead, she adjusted the sling of the bag across her shoulder, her fingers brushing against damp fabric.
“You need to rest,” Naveen said gently.
“I’m fine,” she murmured, voice barely audible, thin like the memory of wind through the palms.
He stopped and pointed toward a line of trees where the land rose slightly. “Let’s check there,” he said. “Sometimes fishermen build small huts near the inner edge. If we’re lucky, something might’ve survived.”
Kavya followed silently, trusting him without question, perhaps because he spoke with the quiet certainty of someone who had faced worse, or because there was no one else left to trust.
They pushed through a tangle of creepers and broken branches, the ground soft, spongy from rain, smelling faintly of earth and decay. Every step sank slightly into the wet soil, and the scent of salt clung to their clothes and hair.
After a few minutes, Naveen spotted something: a thatched roof, tilted at an angle, half-hidden in vines. Its bamboo frame had collapsed on one side, but part of the structure still stood.
“There,” he said, motioning ahead, his voice breaking the hush like a quiet promise.
It was a small hut, maybe the size of a single room, walls of woven palm leaves, a roof patched with tattered plastic sheets, and a wooden bench inside. Everything was coated in a thin layer of sand and dust, but it was shelter.
Kavya stood in the doorway, staring as if she couldn’t believe it was real. “Someone must have lived here,” she whispered.
“Not recently,” Naveen replied, scanning the interior. “But it’ll keep us dry.”
He ducked inside first, testing the bamboo poles and pushing away fallen leaves. Then he extended a hand toward her.
“Careful. The floor’s uneven,” he said.
By late afternoon, the heat began to fade, leaving the air heavy and still, thick with salt, seaweed, and damp wood. Long shadows of palm leaves swayed across the sand like ghostly fingers, and the sound of the sea had softened into a slow, steady murmur, a rhythm like quiet breathing.
Naveen and Kavya had been walking for hours, tracing the coastline in widening circles. Every stretch of beach looked the same, fragments of wreckage, bits of clothing, and lifeless coconuts bobbing lazily near the shore. Yet something deep inside them refused to stop searching. Hope, stubborn and small, flickered in their chests.
Every few minutes, Naveen would pause and listen, his doctor’s mind cataloguing sounds, a faint splash, a rustle of leaves, the distant, mournful cry of a bird, but nothing human answered. Kavya’s steps slowed. Her left ankle was swollen, twisting slightly with every step, yet she didn’t complain. Instead, she adjusted the sling of the bag across her shoulder, her fingers brushing against damp fabric.
“You need to rest,” Naveen said gently.
“I’m fine,” she murmured, voice barely audible, thin like the memory of wind through the palms.
He stopped and pointed toward a line of trees where the land rose slightly. “Let’s check there,” he said. “Sometimes fishermen build small huts near the inner edge. If we’re lucky, something might’ve survived.”
Kavya followed silently, trusting him without question, perhaps because he spoke with the quiet certainty of someone who had faced worse, or because there was no one else left to trust.
They pushed through a tangle of creepers and broken branches, the ground soft, spongy from rain, smelling faintly of earth and decay. Every step sank slightly into the wet soil, and the scent of salt clung to their clothes and hair.
After a few minutes, Naveen spotted something: a thatched roof, tilted at an angle, half-hidden in vines. Its bamboo frame had collapsed on one side, but part of the structure still stood.
“There,” he said, motioning ahead, his voice breaking the hush like a quiet promise.
It was a small hut, maybe the size of a single room, walls of woven palm leaves, a roof patched with tattered plastic sheets, and a wooden bench inside. Everything was coated in a thin layer of sand and dust, but it was shelter.
Kavya stood in the doorway, staring as if she couldn’t believe it was real. “Someone must have lived here,” she whispered.
“Not recently,” Naveen replied, scanning the interior. “But it’ll keep us dry.”
He ducked inside first, testing the bamboo poles and pushing away fallen leaves. Then he extended a hand toward her.
“Careful. The floor’s uneven,” he said.
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