The Stones of Fate-There is love in the Wind
The wind howled a wild song across the north Antrim coast, whipping Chloe’s scarf into a frantic dance. She had booked a tour of the Giant’s Causeway, seeking inspiration for a travel piece, but found her focus stolen by a man a few paces ahead of her. He was a beacon of calm amidst the chaos, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, a serene smile on his face as he took in the impossible, hexagonal landscape. His eyes, the colour of the stormy sea, met hers for just a heartbeat, and in that moment, all the cold, all the wind, all the noise of the tour group melted away. It was a flash of pure recognition, as if her soul had found its twin.
Ethan, a geologist, felt it too. He had studied the Causeway’s unique basalt columns his entire career, but nothing in his textbooks had prepared him for the sight of the woman in the grey coat. Her hair, untamed by the wind, framed a face that held all the wonder and curiosity of the world. As they moved along the path, he felt an invisible tether pulling him closer, a bond more ancient and profound than the very stones beneath their feet.
The Causeway itself was a testament to impossible beauty. The sheer cliffs plunged into the churning ocean, and the geometric precision of the basalt columns laid a path like something from a dream. The air was thick with the scent of salt and ancient rock, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was a raw, powerful symphony. Chloe and Ethan, separated by a handful of tourists, found themselves drawn to the edge of the world, gazing out at the vast expanse of the Atlantic. The light, shifting from silver to grey, cast a magical glow on the landscape, and for a fleeting moment, they stood together, two lone figures on a landscape of myth.
Just as Ethan was about to speak, a powerful gust of wind ripped Chloe’s scarf from her neck, sending it tumbling down towards the waves. Without a second thought, he ran, his feet finding purchase on the slick, hexagonal stones. He caught it just before it was swallowed by the sea. But by the time he scrambled back up, she was gone, her tour group having moved on without her. He was left holding her scarf, a soft, tangible memory of a love that was a breath away from becoming real.
Back in her hotel room, Chloe posted a single, moody photo of the columns, with a caption, “A tour of magic and stones, but the greatest mystery remains lost.” Days later, a friend of a friend saw the post and recognized the unique landscape. “Wait, I know a geologist who was there that day!” she wrote in a comment. The connection was made.
They decided to meet again, not on the dramatic cliffs, but at a quiet, windswept pub in Portrush. As they sat across from each other, a warm fire crackling in the hearth, the world fell into place. The stones of the Causeway had brought them together, a masterpiece of geological fate. The missed connection was not a moment lost, but a promise delayed, and the most beautiful part of the journey was just beginning.
