Yakabatanidzwa ruzha

On the edge of a quiet sea, where the water shimmered like glass under the moonlight, there stood a lighthouse that no map had ever marked. It wasn’t broken, nor abandoned. Its lantern glowed every night—soft, steady, and warm—though no ships were known to pass that stretch of ocean anymore. The villagers who lived miles inland spoke of it in hushed voices, not out of fear, but with a strange kind of longing. They said the lighthouse appeared only to those who needed it. And on one quiet eveni