I bought the train ticket without thinking — just one glance at a photo of the sea, and I knew I had to go. I was tired of the city, of noise, of the constant pressure to be somewhere, do something, prove everything. The idea of waves and salt air felt like medicine.

As the train pulled away, I watched the city shrink into the distance. Concrete turned to green fields, and my heart began to breathe again.

When I arrived, the sea welcomed me like a lost friend. I slipped off my shoes and let the warm sand swallow my feet. The waves rolled in with a rhythm that calmed every anxious thought. I walked for hours, saying nothing, just listening — to the wind, to the water, to myself.

That night, I sat alone on the beach, watching the sun bleed into the ocean. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. Some journeys don’t change the world — just the way you see it.