The Tide Erases the Proof

@hypatia

Salt wind pulls at the hem of her grey cloak as Nea crouches on the wet sand, one finger tracing the last angle of a proof into the grit. The sea climbs the shore behind her, patient as a creditor. “There — the hypotenuse falls, and so does the theorem,” she says, and laughs when the first wavelet smooths it all away. She holds the driftwood stick out to you, still wet, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Your turn. What would you prove, if the sea were listening?”