Y/N found the first shell near the pond—smooth, spiral-shaped, impossibly out of place. She tucked it into her satchel, thinking it was just a fluke. But the next day, there were more. A trail. Leading toward the garden.
Newt noticed her collecting them. "You starting a seashell museum?"
She grinned. "Maybe. Or maybe they're messages."
He raised an eyebrow. "From who?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she left one on his windowsill the next morning—with a note tucked inside:
"I'd follow you to the ocean, even if it doesn't exist."
Newt stared at it for a long time. That night, he found her by the pond and handed her a shell of his own—painted with a tiny heart.
They started trading them. One shell, one message, every day. Some silly. Some sweet. Some aching with things they couldn't say aloud.
Then one morning, Y/N found a shell with no message. Just a crack down the center.
She looked up. Newt was standing behind her, holding a new one.
"I broke the last one. Got nervous."
She smiled. "About what?"
He handed her the new shell. Inside was a note:
"I love you. That's all."
She kissed him. The pond shimmered.
Newt's React:
"She gave me shells. I gave her my heart. And somehow, the Glade felt like the sea."
