They say everything happens for a reason.
I’m one of those few who say not everything needs to have a reason for it to happen.

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One day I was walking down the beach. The sun was shining down, burning my bare skin since I was wearing a black bikini top and a long, flowing black skirt. I could feel the soft white sand between my toes, the warm air making my shoulder length light brown hair whip around my head like a tornado; hear the crystal clear waves crashing down on the shore. Yes, perfect beach weather. A perfect time for tourists to show up to The City of Sunlight and rest on its shores.
I was walking down the beach for a time when something – no, someone – bumped into me from behind. I landed face first. “Hey!” I said while I was spitting sand out of my mouth. Looking up, I saw this utterly gorgeous teenager that looked about the same age as I was (which was 18) and if I wasn’t so frustrated about being knocked over I would’ve automatically found his brunet hair and blue-ish green-gray eyes attractive.
“I’m sorry! Here, let me help you back up,” he said as he took one of my tanned hands and pulled me to my feet.