Jakara was out on the rocks amidst the tidepools, the high tide lapping hungrily at the stones. He had a pail half-full of fat crabs, clicking away angrily at him, when he heard the cries for help. Carefully, sure-footed, he clambered over the rocks and peered into the briny cave high above the kelp that bounded the upper limit of the waves.

We rolled down the hill together, hands clasped tight. The sky flashed past in bursts, now blue, now white, blue, blue, white until the ground ate it in hungry gulps and everything was green. We smelled like grass and crumpled flowers. Mouths stained with berry juice, knees with grass, we laughed through the summer and rolled down the hill.

People like to talk about love at first sight a lot. Meeting someone’s eyes across the cafeteria, that frisson of tension, that spark when two souls connect for just a moment. Or that barest of touches when returning a dropped book, skin against feverish skin. I’d had one or two such moments, in my time. But there are other moments of connection, ones that are often overlooked.

It was just a bit of fun. No-one really believed in Blanca Mortons, but had you really even done your last year in social studies and psychology without investigating the most popular campus legend?

We had fifteen minutes.

It took three for Nuru to wake up properly; the tray rattled out of the wall like a final breath, dispensing her with all the clinical efficiency of a morgue. Her fingers were cold. Too cold.

The rain washed out the streetlights and blurred the city streets as they passed by. Everything was muted, tinted blue and grey, made to shimmer as though the rain had filled the streets and now they drove through wide, empty ocean caverns, once-houses forming the rock walls.