They never waded in too deep to the shell layer; they simply stood by the shore
and tried to catch shells as the water receded. Most shells were pulled away by the
receding water and swept back into the layer.
“Why don’t you want to go further in the water?” Savitri had inquired.
Anahira had smiled. “Because, it’s not satisfying to scoop up all the shells from one place. It is more satisfying, however, to let the shells come to us. To catch them as they come. They are hard to catch, yes? So, I feel happier when I have caught one in the sand.”
She thought back to that day as she stared out at the expansive waters. She
walked alongside the shoreline, her footprints embedded in the sand. It only took one
wave to wash them away. Her footprints disappeared behind her, replaced with smooth
wet sand. Just like her past life. She was no longer Savitri, the copywriter at a big
American advertising agency. She was an immigrant leaving her whole life behind,
ready to become a New Kiwi. Her parents had left India after much planning. She left
America on a whim – at the request of a dear friend. Of course, her parents had erupted
into disbelief and outrage when she had announced her plans. Just like her colleagues,
they couldn’t understand what New Zealand had to offer her. They loved it, yes, but to
move there all of a sudden? To have a job there? But here she was, having left her
confused family and colleagues behind. She didn’t regret it, no. Far from that. It was
perhaps one of the best decisions she had ever made. There were so many
uncertainties, so many arrangements that could have gone wrong. But to her, there was
something so promising about uncertainty. After all, she had come back to her hidden
gem, the place she loved. She was unsure about what lay ahead, yet she felt more alive
than she ever had.
As her footprints were made and erased, she stopped walking, letting the waves
encircle her ankles. Let the shells come to you. She bent down to pick one up, but it
was sucked away before she could touch it. She kept trying again, but to no avail. They
all kept escaping her grasp. As the waves receded once more, she spotted a fairly large
shell buried in the sand. She reached her hand out to take it, sand burying itself into her
nails. The waves almost swept it out of her hand, but she closed her fist tightly to keep
the shell from escaping. She pulled her hand out of the water and opened it. She
brushed away the clumps of wet sand from the shell and looked at it. It was white and
light orange, and mostly smooth like alabaster. It wasn’t an entirely pretty shell – it was
marred by erosion and calluses – but it was still beautiful to look at. Savitri fingered the
ridges gently, pleased that she had found one shell. One shell that came to her, that
waited for her to grab it before it got washed away.
The waves continued to rise and fall, crash and recede. They continued to erase
her footprints as she continued to walk, the shell clutched in her wet, sandy hands. A
blank slate, so she could start over.
The End