The Sound of the Ocean

For her, the sound of the ocean was unlike any other in the world. In a changing world, it was the one thing that remained unchanged. The one sound was always the same, no matter which country or continent she was in. The sound of the ocean was the sound of healing.

The sound of the ocean surrounded her like an embrace, wrapped her in its vast, humming presence. Even when it roared with rage, it held her gently. 

Whether the ocean thundered beneath a brooding sky, lashing out at the shore and shattering against the rocks, or whispered, revealing the vivid life it cradled within, or rolled in steady rhythms, offering a surfer the perfect wave to carry home, the ocean always knew just how to comfort her. Whether calm or chaotic, day or night, the sound remained her one constant—steadfast, soothing, unwavering. The rhythm of the waves never failed her; they always felt like home.

They say home is where the heart is—her heart was with the ocean. People could crush and break her heart, but never the ocean. It just healed her without asking questions, without expectations, and judgment.

To her anxious mind and grieving heart, the ocean was a balm. It was sunlight on a rare cold day. It was the wind in her hair, the child in her spirit, the love she carried wherever she was—on a cruise, in a seaside resort, or from the window of a quiet hotel. Whether she was in a small coastal town in Kerala or the ancient town of Alexandria, the sound of the sea was always the same. It was familiar, faithful and healing.

It was like a friend or a parent who instinctively knew what to soothe and how to comfort without asking.

Every time she stood barefoot, with the water kissing her feet and the sand slipping away between her toes, something in her stood still—just for a moment. 

A perfect moment. 

The ocean held her, and she knew: she was whole again, for that moment.