The Color of Early Mornings

The first time Liora Halden saw Riven Caldor she was standing beneath a flickering streetlamp on Dalen Wharf, hugging her coat against the ocean wind. The morning sky was still a muted gray, the kind that softened the edges of everything and made the world feel quieter than it should. She had not expected anyone else to be out at that hour but there he was, leaning against the railing as if the cold did not bother him. He stood perfectly still, gazing at the water that rocked gently in long shimmering lines.

Liora tried to pass without drawing attention. She had come there because she needed someplace that did not remind her of the chaos she had left behind. The break up, the apartment she could not return to yet, the suffocating feeling of losing direction. She moved quickly but her boot scuffed against a wet patch of stone and the sound echoed too loudly.

Riven turned his head. His eyes met hers and for a moment Liora felt pinned by a calm she could not explain. He looked nothing like the people she usually met. His features were warm but reserved, like he lived with a quiet understanding of the world. His hair was dark and unkempt as if the wind had shaped it, and his clothes were simple but not careless.

“Morning,” he said, voice low and thoughtful.

She nodded. “Morning.”

He pushed away from the railing and approached without any hint of intrusion. There was a soft steadiness in his steps, like he knew how to move in a space without overwhelming it.

“Most people are still asleep at this hour,” he said. “You new around here”

“Visiting,” Liora replied. It was not entirely true, but it was easier than explaining anything else.

He did not push further. Instead he stepped aside so she could move past him. “The view is worth the cold if you feel like staying.”

She almost kept walking. Almost. Something in the air felt suspended, as if she had been invited into a moment that was not meant to be ignored. She turned back toward the water.

“I guess a few minutes would not hurt.”

They stood in silence. The ocean breathed against the stone path and small boats bobbed in slow rhythm. The first blush of sunrise softened the horizon, tinting the clouds with faint gold.

Riven spoke first. “You look like someone carrying something heavy.”

Liora stiffened. “I guess you could say that.”

“I dont mean to pry. I just notice things.”

There was no judgment in his tone. Only gentle observation. Liora exhaled and watched her breath mingle with the cold.

“What about you,” she asked. “Why are you out here this early”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. “Habit. I work the docks. Old schedules stick to you.”

There was a slight pull to his mouth, something that looked like a memory but stayed unspoken. Liora wondered what secrets early mornings had witnessed in his life.

Over the next few days their encounters continued. Liora returned to the wharf each morning, telling herself she needed the air or the quiet, but truthfully she was waiting for the chance to see him again. Riven always arrived first, or perhaps he never left, and each day he offered her the kind of presence that expected nothing from her yet understood more than words revealed.

They talked about ordinary things at first. Places they had visited. Food they enjoyed. Books they kept meaning to finish. Riven had an easy way of holding conversation. He listened more than he spoke, and when he did speak he chose his words with purpose. Liora found herself wanting to tell him things she never said to strangers.

One morning he asked, “What brought you here really”

Liora clasped her hands inside her coat sleeves. “I left my place after a fight. I needed to breathe somewhere else. I did not plan anything farther than that.”

“Were you hurt”

“Emotionally. Not physically.”

“That matters too.”

She liked that he said it so simply. No dramatizing. No pity. Just acknowledgement.

Liora studied him. “And you What keeps you here at the docks”

Riven looked out at the water. “My family used to run a small shipping line. It was what kept us going for years. After my father passed I tried to keep it alive but business dried up. Harder storms. Fewer contracts. I sold the last boat six months ago. Since then I have been drifting. Figuratively, not literally.”

She heard the quiet ache behind his words. “I am sorry. That must have been hard.”

“It was. Still is sometimes. But coming out here helps.”

“Why”

“Because the water never lies. You can stare at it and it will show you the truth of what you feel whether you want it or not.”

The reply sat with her, sinking deeper than she expected. She knew that feeling too well.

Their connection grew in the delicate ways that build slowly but surely. Riven walked her back to her temporary rental. Liora brought him coffee from a small bakery. They shared stories they had not told anyone in years. She learned that he loved restoring old items and had a workshop full of half finished projects. He learned that she loved painting city skylines and that she had abandoned her art since the breakup because she no longer trusted her own voice.

One afternoon Riven surprised her by asking if she wanted to see his workshop. She agreed.

The workshop was tucked behind a rust colored warehouse on the edge of the pier. The space smelled faintly of old wood and warm dust. Sunlight streamed through a high window, catching floating specks in golden drift. Tools hung in neat rows along the wall and the worktable was cluttered with sandpaper, wires, and an unfinished wooden box carved with intricate patterns.

“This is beautiful,” Liora said, running a hand over the smooth surface.

“I started it for my mother,” Riven replied. “She always wanted a place to keep her letters. I never finished it before she passed.”

Liora looked at him. The grief in his voice was old but still alive. She wished she could ease it somehow. Instead she said, “I think she would have loved it.”

“Maybe.” He set the box down gently. “What about your art Have you painted anything lately”

“No. I feel stuck. Like my hands forgot how to move.”

He stepped closer, his presence warm but not overwhelming. “Maybe you just needed someone to remind you why you started.”

“Do you think I can still find that”

He held her gaze. “I think it is still in you. You just need a place where you feel safe again.”

The words warmed a part of her she had locked away.

They began spending more time together. Sharing meals. Taking long walks along the pier. Sometimes they talked for hours. Sometimes they sat in silence. Both felt equally comforting. Yet each knew something deeper was forming, even if neither dared say it.

Then one evening everything changed.

Liora received a message from her ex. He had apologized, said he missed her, asked her to come back. Her heart tangled in confusion. Part of her wanted to say no instantly. Another part feared making a mistake. She carried the weight of the decision like a stone lodged under her ribs.

She went to the wharf and found Riven waiting. The setting sun painted the sky with streaks of red and orange. The wind had grown stronger, carrying the scent of salt and cold metal.

“You look troubled,” Riven said immediately.

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Do you want to talk about it”

She nodded. Told him about the message. Explained her fear of repeating old patterns. Her fear of losing what little stability she had rebuilt. Her fear of hurting someone else.

Riven listened with steady eyes. When she was finished he looked down at the railing and exhaled.

“Do you want to go back to him”

“I dont know. I dont think so. But I am scared of what happens if I dont.”

“What do you want for yourself”

“I want to feel like I am moving forward. Like I am not trapped in the same cycle.”

Riven nodded. A silence spread between them, heavy and charged. Liora realized she wanted him to tell her to stay with him but that would not be fair. It had to be her choice.

He finally said, “You deserve a life that does not drain you. And you deserve a love that does not make you question your worth.”

Her eyes stung unexpectedly. “Riven, I do not know what to do.”

He hesitated, then quietly asked, “Would you stay here if there was someone who cared about you”

The world stilled. Liora felt her heart tremble.

“Are you saying you care about me”

He looked straight into her eyes. “I am saying there has not been a single morning since I met you that I have not hoped you would show up again. I am saying that this wharf feels different because of you. I am saying I care. Probably more than I should. But it is your choice. Always.”

Her breath caught. She stepped toward him, close enough to feel his warmth. Her voice came out soft. “I care about you too. I just did not know if I was allowed to.”

“You are,” he said, and for the first time she saw fear flicker across his usually calm features. “But I do not want to be a reason you run away from anything. I only want to be someone who stands with you if you choose to stay.”

Liora felt something inside her settle. A gentle certainty. “I want to stay. Not because I am running. Because I am finally choosing what feels right.”

Riven let out a breath like he had been holding it for hours. A smile touched his lips, small but full of emotion.

“Then stay,” he whispered.

She reached for his hand and he took it slowly as if memorizing the moment.

The days that followed unfolded in quiet beauty. Liora returned to her art, painting in the warm light of Riven’s workshop. He restored old furniture and taught her how to carve small wooden designs. They shared coffee breaks, laughter, and the comfortable closeness of two people building something new.

Their first kiss happened on a soft rainy afternoon. Liora was painting a sunrise on a wide canvas while Riven repaired a wooden chair. Thunder growled overhead and rain pattered against the windows. She stepped back from her painting and sighed. Riven joined her side and studied the canvas.

“It is beautiful,” he said.

“It is the color of early mornings. The ones we spent together.”

He turned to her. She turned to him. Their closeness felt like a slow inhale. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers trembling slightly.

“Liora,” he said softly, as if saying her name was a confession.

She leaned in before doubt could take over. Their lips met gently at first then deepened with a long searching warmth that anchored her to the present moment. A moment that felt both fragile and eternal. She held his face in her hands and felt everything she had feared dissolve.

When they finally parted he rested his forehead against hers. “I have wanted to do that since the second morning I saw you.”

“I think I have wanted it since the first.”

Time moved in steady grace. They became inseparable but not dependent. Encouraging each other’s dreams. Supporting each other’s struggles. Riven helped Liora display her paintings at a small local gallery. Liora helped Riven complete the wooden box for his mother, giving it a final coat of varnish until it glowed.

One evening they walked along the wharf again, the same spot where they had met. The sky was soft with twilight and the water shimmered in quiet loops. Riven stopped and looked at her with a seriousness that warmed her chest.

“I have been thinking,” he said.

“About what”

“About how this all started. A cold morning. A quiet moment. Two people who did not know they would matter to each other.”

She smiled. “A lot has changed since then.”

“Yeah. It has.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small wooden pendant carved with simple spiraling lines. He placed it gently in her hand.

“I made this for you,” he said. “It is not fancy but it is the first thing I made that I finished because it gave me joy, not because the world needed something from me.”

Liora felt her heart swell. “It is beautiful.”

“It is a reminder,” Riven said, voice warm. “Of new beginnings. Of choosing what feels true. Of mornings with you.”

She stepped closer, touched by the quiet sincerity in his expression. The pendant felt warm in her palm as if it carried part of him within it.

“Riven,” she whispered, “I am glad I stayed.”

He cupped her face in his hands. “I am glad you found your way here.”

They kissed again beneath the rising moon. The world softened around them. Boats rocked gently. Distant waves brushed the shore. And for the first time in years Liora felt wholly, undeniably alive.

Their story was not perfect. There were still hardships and days when healing felt slow. But they faced each moment together, not with fear but with the steady courage of two people who had learned to trust themselves and each other.

And every morning, just before sunrise, they returned to the wharf. Not out of habit. Not out of escape. But because that was where their lives had shifted into color.

Because that was where they had discovered each other.

And because some beginnings deserve to be honored every day.