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The salty air whipped through her hair as she grinned at the sea, the waters reflecting the shimmering sun. Beidou leaped off the bow of the Crux, landing with a solid thump on the sandy beach. Gently, she scooped out a glass bottle buried in the sand, a single strip of thick paper rolled inside.
Beidou had been picking up these bottles for almost a year now, entranced since the first letter she read. It had been during a casual sail around Liyue when a sharp reflection caught her eye. Beidou reached out and uncorked the bottle, hoping to find alcohol, but was disappointed to find nothing but a piece of paper. Out of pure curiosity, she shook the bottle and the paper fell out. It was almost like a journal entry, the person writing to no one but themself. Beidou thought nothing of it, until the next week, sailing along the same route and seeing another bottle. Wondering if it was the same person, she picked it up and sure enough, the same neat letters were spread across the page.
Each week, she picked up a new bottle. Her cabin was now full of them, lined up cleanly on a shelf. Each week, Beidou fell more and more in love with the author of these letters. And each week, she tried to find the one who wrote them. Throughout all of Liyue, searching for handwriting that was even remotely similar.
Until, that one day. Beidou picked up the new bottle, and in the comfort of her cabin, she grinned as she read the letter, the person’s endeavours scrawled all over the page. What saddened her, was that the author mentioned this was the last letter they'll write. They wrote that, they knew someone picked their letters up, and hope that it brought them entertainment. At the end of the letter though, something caught her eye.
Large cursive letters filled the bottom portion of the page. Her eyes widened. There, the closing of the letter was signed with one name: Ningguang.
Beidou was shocked, but also had an inkling that the author was her all along. Their writing too similar, the event depicted too coincidental to be anyone but her. She smiled and laughed heartily; turns out the writer was closer to her than she thought.
Letters were written, and hearts were joined.
Love was realized, through glass bottles and ink