Ne Skrbi Draga -

Elena stood on the pier, her fingers white from gripping the wool of her shawl. She didn't cry; she didn't want the last image he had of her to be one of sorrow. Marko took her hands, his palms rough from years of hauling nets, and pressed a small, wooden pendant into her palm. It was carved into the shape of a lighthouse.

Five years had passed since the pier. Elena was no longer the girl with the wool shawl; she was a woman of quiet strength, working in the salt pans. One evening, a massive storm tore through the coast. The waves crashed against the stone walls with a fury that felt personal. Elena sat by her hearth, clutching her pendant, when a frantic knocking sounded at her door. Ne skrbi Draga

It was the harbormaster, drenched and breathless. "A small boat," he gasped. "Wrecked on the rocks near the lighthouse. We need blankets." Elena stood on the pier, her fingers white

His eyes were the same deep blue as the Adriatic on a clear summer day. His voice was a mere rasp, barely audible over the crashing waves, but the words were unmistakable. It was carved into the shape of a lighthouse

The salt air in Piran was thick the day Marko prepared to leave. The Adriatic Sea, usually a shimmering turquoise, looked leaden and restless. Marko was a sailor, and the promise of work on a large merchant vessel meant he would be away for three years—a lifetime for two people who had never spent a single night apart.

Elena didn't hesitate. she grabbed her heaviest quilts and followed him into the gale. On the shore, through the curtain of rain, she saw the silhouette of a man being pulled from the surf. He was gaunt, his hair matted with salt and blood, but as she draped the blanket over him, he looked up.

The village elders shook their heads. They had seen many young men swallowed by the horizon, their names eventually becoming nothing more than echoes in the local tavern. But Elena remained steadfast. Every evening, as the sun dipped behind the Church of St. George, she walked to the end of the pier. She wore the wooden lighthouse around her neck, a silent prayer carved in cedar.