As the storm bellowed over the sound of the sea, gulls cried at the thundering heavens from the wind-blown sand. Tumultuous as it was, Léa smiled at the worsening weather and splashed through angry currents with bare legs, sprinting across the shore —a force of nature herself— toward where I sat sheltered under a large alcove.

She landed beside me in a breathless heap. Her sea-soaked hair clinging to her face and chest like ebony-hued ivy. Inquisitive hazel eyes searched the horizon, and within their ever-mysterious depths I could see the reflection of far-off vessels and mighty waves that towered onto shore.

"We should have come here sooner," she breathed.

Her eyes darted to mine as I said, "You know we couldn't."

"I would have taken this over graduating any day," she replied.

"I know," I murmured.

Léa was an explorer trapped in the life & body of a well-educated English woman. Where her family taught her table manners and sent her to medical school, she yearned to escape onto a boat and live unencumbered by the laws of the land. Her wanton behavior and adventurous tendencies had made her stick out like a sore thumb in such a strict school environment, but, as an introverted rule-follower I found myself drawn to her almost instantly. She fascinated me to no end.

Now, graduated and set to begin our careers as doctors in The Royal London Hospital, this escape to Scotland would be the last time we saw the ocean for a while.

Bittersweet as it was for Léa, I didn't mind where I was... so long as I was with her. Blood rushed to my cheeks and I averted my gaze to the ocean.

"You're in your head again."

"Nonsense," I defended.

"I'm shivering. Can we head back?" she stood without my answer, knowing I'd follow.

A low whistle sailed through the cottage we had rented for the weekend. It creaked and groaned, which to Léa made it all the more endearing.

In front of the fireplace, smoke filled our lungs with burnt spruce as we warmed up. Léa laid on her side, half-asleep. I watched the orange light of the flames dance across her skin from where I sat in an armchair, yearning to touch what I could only imagine.

"Odelia?"

Her voice sung my name in a way that made my heart forget the need to keep beating. I stayed quiet.

"I can feel you looking at me."

"P-Pardon?"

"Don't deny it," Léa said.

She sat up, and crawled over to the foot of my chair, leaning her cheek against the arm rail. Her eyes glinted dangerously in the light. My heart raced at her close proximity. Could friends be this close? My hand was inches from her head, her hair, her face...

"At first I thought you were cheating when you did it in uni. But then I noticed you never look at my notes, only me. And now. Here we are alone, and still you stare."

"I'm terribly sorry," I sputtered. "I can stop at once. You should have told me of it sooner, I would have—"

"What do you see in me?"

"I-I see a beautiful... friend. And scholar."

"You know I hate that word," she whispered.

The room seemed to grow smaller. More intimate. The more she looked at me, the further the world melted away.

I whispered back, "Scholar?"

"No... Beautiful."

I furrowed my brows, "Don't tell me you find yourself vulgar."

"How can I not be? The world wishes I conform to its womanly ways, and I fall short."

"Léa, you are gorgeous in your differences. If you conformed..." I shook my head. "I don't think I would have ever talked to you in the study hall."

"Beg your pardon? I talked to you first, and since we're being frank, it was because I noticed you staring!"

"I was not!"

"Absolutely were."

"Then... why let me stare for so long? We had four years of uni."

She said nothing. Then, a sly look crossed her face as she took my hand in hers, fingers falling on the underside of my wrist in order to take my pulse. My breath stopped in my throat.

"Friends don't vacation in a beach cottage far away, do they? I'm no fool, Odelia. You look at me like my mother told me my husband would look at me one day."

"Oh," I said, heart sinking, world imploding with her words.

"You've made my life bearable these past years. And I yours, if that's not too bold."

"Not at all," I replied quickly.

"Then I think it's fair to say this: my mother was wrong."

She had told me she loved me, and more. All my quiet fantasies I created in my head could have never prepared me for this. A tightness in my chest that had been building our entire conversation was lifted by this revelation.

Slowly, she rose until her head was millimeters away. I felt her short breaths now. My eyes were drawn to her rosy, budded lips which parted slightly as they brushed against mine.

Taunting.

Asking.

Waiting.

Pulse thundering louder than the storm outside, I shivered as I leaned in and kissed her for the first time, and the world sequestered into nothing more than the two of us with the fire to light our passion.