They'd been waiting for this. The moment the first bass hit their chests, every piece fell into place. Mamaia Beach has long been a refuge for musical aesthetics and a portal to dreamscapes. All one needs is comfortable shoes and water. The rest unfolds in tandem with the rhythm. As darkness was settling, the minimal groove was pulling harder. Under the canopy, a well-known Romanian producer had become one with the crowd, moving it in unison with the loops. "My palms are sweating," Needle whispered. "That's the magic of Sunwaves. And the way he plays with tempo!" "Let's get closer to the booth." The dancing wave engulfed everyone and their endless conversations. The night had flown by. The sun began to rise over the sea, painting the sky pink. Needle and Plate sat on the sand, still feeling a pleasant vibration in their bodies. "You know what's best?" Plate said, staring at the horizon. "Time runs differently here." "Yeah. You can play the same moment on repeat and never get tired of it." They smiled, knowing that in a year they'd be back — ready to surrender again to the sound that becomes breath, and the music that becomes infinity.