Standing here on this Andaman beach, the difference is in the memory. A giant wave is just water rising up; a tsunami is the ocean itself pulling back its curtain to show you the seabed, a terrible, quiet emptiness before the roar arrives. I know this because I work nights, yaar, and recognise that same hollow silence just before the world floods with noise—the shift change, the empty office, then the sudden tide of daylight life I must swim against. My giant waves are manageable; my tsunami is missing another family dinner while the mountains turn gold without me.
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