Sway you… sway me… Yes. I go with it, letting the ocean rock me like it’s in charge. No rush, no schedule – just a lazy, deliciously swaying transatlantic life.

Then the captain booms over the PA: we’re near the Titanic’s resting place. Twelve thousand five hundred feet down, history waits quietly, probably judging our deck chairs. Suddenly, my carefully planned day feels… fragile.

I glance at the bar. Afternoon drink? Mandatory. The ocean doesn’t ask permission – it just sways. And I go along, cocktail in hand.

First stop… the library! Deck 8 forward: a two-story temple of stories, mezzanine above, cozy corners below.

Next door, the bookshop gleamed like a treasure chest, daring you to grab a tome and vanish into a........

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