The voice of the sea

They argue about what the seashell holds. A voice, or just wind. Aliza believes. Pandora doesn’t. Then Pandora stops talking and kisses her instead. The kiss lands soft, sure. Their fingers tangle and stay that way. Aliza doesn’t pull away. Her eyes soften. Pandora’s hands move, slow and certain, tracing the warm lines of her body. Every curve answers the touch. Breath quickens. Whatever argument was left dissolves between them, like salt into tide.