The morning sun glints off the turquoise waters of Couple’s Bay, turning the waves into tiny shards of light. I grip the raft’s rope, my heart racing—not from the gentle current ahead, but from the way Clara’s laughter mixes with the sound of the wind. She’s sitting across from me, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail, a streak of sunscreen on her cheek that she forgot to rub in. “You ready to beat the rapids we saw on the map?” she grins, tapping her paddle against the water. I nod, but my eyes stay on her—on the way her eyes light up when she talks about adventure, on the way her hands brush mine when we adjust the raft’s position. This is why we came here: to escape the noise of the city, to be together, to let the bay’s waters carry us into something quiet and perfect.
The raft pushes off, and Clara lets out a whoop, leaning back as the current pulls us forward. The bay is surrounded by pine trees, their branches hanging over the water, casting dappled shadows on Clara’s face. She points to a family of ducks gliding past, their feathers shimmering in the sun. “Look!” she says, her voice softening. “They look so happy.” I follow her gaze, but I’m really looking at her—the way she leans in, like she’s sharing a secret with the ducks, the way her smile softens when she’s watching something gentle. We drift for a while, our paddles resting on the raft’s edges, just listening to the water lapping against the sides, to the birds singing in the trees, to each other’s quiet breaths.
Then, the current picks up, and Clara sits up straight, her eyes sparkling. “Rapids ahead!” she calls, grabbing her paddle. I laugh, joining her, and we start paddling in sync—our movements coordinated, like we’ve done this a hundred times before. The water splashes up, wetting our legs, and Clara shrieks, but she’s smiling, her hair sticking to her forehead. When we hit the first small rapid, the raft bounces, and I reach out, grabbing her hand to steady her. Her palm is warm and slightly sweaty, and I hold on tight, not wanting to let go. “We did it!” she cheers when we glide into calmer waters, squeezing my hand. “Told you we’d be a good team.”
We pull the raft to the shore of a small island in the middle of the bay, covered in soft grass and wildflowers. Clara jumps out first, helping me climb onto the sand, and we spread out a blanket, pulling out the picnic we packed—sandwiches, fresh strawberries, a thermos of iced tea. She sits cross-legged, biting into a strawberry, juice dripping down her chin. I reach over, wiping it away with my thumb, and she blushes, leaning into my side. “Remember when we tried to go camping last year?” she says, laughing. “And we forgot the tent stakes, so we had to sleep in the car?” I nod, wrapping an arm around her. “You said it was the worst night ever. But you were smiling the whole time.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too. “Because I was with you. Even a terrible night is good if you’re there.”
After lunch, we get back in the raft, drifting slowly toward the bay’s quieter coves. Clara rests her head on my shoulder, her eyes closing as the sun warms our faces. “I wish we could stay here forever,” she murmurs. I kiss the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with the saltwater. “We can come back whenever we want,” I say. “Whenever we need to escape, to be us.” She looks up at me, her eyes bright, and leans in, her lips brushing mine. The raft rocks gently, the water rippling around us, and for a moment, there’s nothing but her—her smile, her touch, the sound of her heart beating against mine.
As the sun starts to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, we paddle back to shore. Clara’s tired, her shoulders slumping, but she’s still smiling, talking about the ducks we saw, the rapids we conquered. When we reach the dock, I help her out of the raft, and she wraps her arms around me, hugging me tight. “Today was perfect,” she says, her voice quiet. “Thank you.” I kiss her forehead, squeezing her close. “Perfect doesn’t even cover it,” I say. “Not when I’m with you.”
We walk back to our car, our hands linked, the sound of the bay’s waves still in our ears. Clara stops for a minute, turning to look at the water, now dark in the fading light. “I love you,” she says, looking at me. “More than this bay, more than any adventure.” I smile, pulling her into another kiss. “I love you too,” I say. “More than you’ll ever know.” As we drive away, I glance in the rearview mirror, watching Couple’s Bay fade into the distance. But I don’t feel sad—because the best part of the day wasn’t the rafting, or the 风景，or the picnic. It was her. Clara, with her messy ponytail and her sunscreen streak, with her laughter and her love. And no matter where we go, no matter what adventures we have, that’s the one thing that will never fade. That’s the love that will carry us through, always.
