Ne | Skrbi Draga

The salt air in Piran was thick the day Marko prepared to leave. The Adriatic Sea, usually a shimmering turquoise, looked leaden and restless. Marko was a sailor, and the promise of work on a large merchant vessel meant he would be away for three years—a lifetime for two people who had never spent a single night apart.

His eyes were the same deep blue as the Adriatic on a clear summer day. His voice was a mere rasp, barely audible over the crashing waves, but the words were unmistakable. Ne skrbi Draga

"," Marko said, a weak smile breaking through his exhaustion. "I told you I’d be back." The salt air in Piran was thick the

He had been shipwrecked and held in a remote port for years, working his way back across continents just to find the pier where he had left his heart. In that moment, the five years of silence vanished. The lighthouse pendant around Elena's neck finally caught the light of the moon, proving that some promises are stronger than the sea itself. His eyes were the same deep blue as

It was the harbormaster, drenched and breathless. "A small boat," he gasped. "Wrecked on the rocks near the lighthouse. We need blankets."

"," he whispered against her forehead. "The sea has a way of bringing back what it takes. I will be back before the third winter’s first snow." The Years of Silence