Socotran BLUE Butterflies

As the sun dipped behind the jagged peaks, the air cooled, and the butterflies retreated into the crevices of ancient rocks and low-hanging branches. Sarah closed her journal, her gaze lingering on the last butterfly still hovering near the fire’s fading warmth. “It’s strange,” she mused, “how they seem so fragile, yet they’ve survived here for centuries.”
Abdul grinned, brushing sand from his hands. “Like Socotra itself—isolated, but enduring.” He leaned back, watching as the butterfly finally took flight, disappearing into the night.
The island’s magic wasn’t just in its rare species or unspoiled landscapes; it was in the way it made everything—every flutter of wings, every shared moment—feel like part of something timeless.