There is something sacred about the space between old friends—the kind that doesn’t erode with time or distance but instead waits, intact, for the next moment you step into it together. It’s not just familiarity or shared history; it’s deeper than that. It’s the way conversation flows without hesitation, the way laughter comes from a place untouched by years apart. It’s picking up right where you left off, as if no time or space has passed at all. It’s a kind of restoration, a quiet recalibration of the soul.

I’m not much of an early riser—that’s more my husband’s rhythm. But on this particular morning, for our 24-hour getaway, I made an exception. We slipped out as the sun rose, hot cup of tea in hand, the world still quiet, and beelined to the beach. With only a day to spare, we wanted to make every moment count.