The sea claimed the path, but we kept walking.

We set off on foot. The air smelled thick with salt and dried fish. Walking across the ocean floor felt surreal, our feet sinking slightly into the ribbed sand. Inside the fort, history echoed from the black volcanic walls built by Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj’s naval chief. We explored ancient temples and hidden sweet-water wells, completely losing track of time.

Then came the roar.

The wind shifted, and a local guard shouted a warning. The tide was turning—fast. We rushed to the gates. What was a dry path an hour ago was now a swirling, knee-deep current. Adrenaline surged through me. Clutching our shoes, we waded into the cold, pulling water, battling the rising waves with every step. By the time our feet touched dry shore, the fortress was completely cut off again, an island swallowed by the sea.