The sea had always spoken to her. As a child, Leila would press her ear to seashells and swear she heard whispers beneath the hush. Now, at forty-three, standing barefoot on the weathered planks of the pier, she felt the same tug in her bones. The ocean was calling again—but this time it was not playful, not gentle. It sounded like grief. That morning, the fishermen came back with nets heavy not with mackerel or cod but with plastic bottles, shredded bags, and ghostly tangles of nylon rope. T...

The sea had always spoken to her. As a child, Leila would press her ear to seashells and swear she heard whispers beneath the hush. Now, at forty-three, standing barefoot on the weathered planks of the pier, she felt the same tug in her bones. The ocean was calling again—but this time it was not playful, not gentle. It sounded like grief. That morning, the fishermen came back with nets heavy not with mackerel or cod but with plastic bottles, shredded bags, and ghostly tangles of nylon rope. T...