Michalis didn't turn around. "And you're still walking like you're trying to outrun the wind." He finally looked back, a lopsided grin breaking his weary expression. "I wrote something. . For you."
As they stood on that pier, the music seemed to manifest around them. The world blurred into the vibrant, high-contrast colors of a music video. They weren't just two people anymore; they were a harmony. Every lyric Michalis spat was a confession of his rough edges, and every note Ivi hit was an acceptance of them. Michalis didn't turn around
The sun was dipping below the horizon in Alexandroupoli, painting the Aegean Sea in shades of bruised purple and gold. Michalis sat on the edge of a weathered wooden pier, the rhythmic thumping of a distant bassline from a beach bar echoing his own heartbeat. He was humming a melody—something raw, something that tasted like salt air and missed opportunities. They weren't just two people anymore; they were a harmony