Chapter Text
The first thing I noticed was the smell.
Salt and sunscreen, seaweed and sand—the mix that always clung to the beach house, like the air itself remembered us.
Every summer, it was the same: the long drive from the city, windows rolled down, my mom’s playlist of 80s songs blaring through the speakers while my little brother groaned about the heat. I leaned my head against the glass, letting the warm wind push my hair back as I tried to imagine what this summer would feel like.
Because I knew, somehow, it wouldn’t be like the ones before.
“Almost there,” Mom said from the driver’s seat, her voice cheery. “Aiah, wake your brother up. He’ll want to see the beach.”
“He’s not asleep, he’s pretending,” I said, nudging him anyway.
Sure enough, my brother groaned but cracked one eye open. “Whatever. Just tell me when we’re there.”
I smiled, but my heart was racing a little. Because we were almost there. And waiting at that house—two familiar faces I hadn’t stopped thinking about all year.
The car turned the final corner, and there it was: the beach house. Whitewashed walls, wooden shutters, a porch that creaked whenever you stepped on it. It wasn’t fancy, but it was ours—or, more truthfully, shared between our families for as long as I could remember.
And standing on the porch already, waving like she’d been waiting all day, was Mikha.
Her hair was tied up messily, strands flying in the breeze. She wore denim shorts and a tank top, golden from the sun like she lived here year-round. As soon as we parked, she was running toward us barefoot, a wide grin lighting up her face.
“Aiah!” she shouted, like she hadn’t seen me in a lifetime instead of just months.
Before I could even get out properly, she wrapped her arms around me, lifting me slightly off the ground. I laughed, hugging her back, surprised at how warm she felt.
“You’ve gotten taller,” she said, pulling back but keeping her hands on my shoulders. Her eyes sparkled the way they always did—Mikha was a human version of sunshine, and being around her made it impossible not to feel brighter too.
“Or maybe you’ve just gotten shorter,” I teased.
She gasped dramatically. “Rude. First thing you say to me after months apart is an insult? You’ve changed, Arceta.”
Before I could reply, I felt another gaze on me. Quiet, steady.
When I looked up at the porch again, there was Colet.
She didn’t run. She didn’t even wave. She just leaned against the railing, arms crossed, her dark hair falling into her eyes. Same as always—calm, composed, like she carried secrets she’d never tell.
Our eyes met for a second, and something inside me twisted.
Colet nodded, barely noticeable, and then looked away.
Typical.
“Come on,” Mikha said, tugging my arm. “You have to see the new hammock we set up! It’s perfect for stargazing. Oh, and wait until you taste the halo-halo we made last night—well, okay, it was mostly me because Colet is boring and doesn’t like sweets, but—”
“Mikha,” Colet’s voice cut through, low and even. “Maybe let her put her bag down first.”
Mikha stuck her tongue out in Colet’s direction but still looped her arm through mine, leading me toward the house.
And just like that, I was back.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur of unpacking, greetings, and the kind of noise that only happens when families who’ve known each other forever reunite. Our moms were in the kitchen immediately, laughing over recipes. My brother disappeared with Gwen and Sheena to check out the waves. And I found myself sitting on the porch steps, watching the sun dip lower, when Mikha flopped down beside me.
“You look different,” she said suddenly, tilting her head as if studying me.
I raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”
“Older. Prettier. Like… summer suits you more now.”
I laughed, though my cheeks warmed. Mikha was always saying things like that—bold, easy compliments that left me flustered.
“You’re just saying that because you missed me,” I replied.
“Of course I missed you.” She grinned, nudging me with her shoulder. “Summer isn’t summer without you.”
Her words made something flutter in my chest, but before I could answer, the porch creaked.
Colet.
She stood there, holding two bottles of water. Without a word, she handed one to me, then sat on the other side.
“Thanks,” I said softly.
She gave the faintest smile, but her eyes stayed fixed on the horizon.
The three of us sat there in silence for a while—Mikha leaning into me, Colet keeping her distance but close enough that I could feel the quiet weight of her presence.
It struck me then: this was going to be the hardest summer yet.
Dinner was loud, the kind of chaotic I’d missed. Stacey and Jhoanna brought out a guitar, singing while everyone clapped along. Gwen kept sneaking fries from Sheena’s plate, earning mock glares. Mikha was telling a dramatic story about her first time trying surfing alone, complete with wild hand gestures that almost knocked over a glass.
I laughed until my stomach hurt, but every now and then, my gaze would drift to Colet.
She wasn’t loud like the others. She listened, occasionally adding a dry remark that made everyone laugh harder. And sometimes, when no one else was paying attention, I caught her watching me.
Like right now.
Her eyes met mine across the table, steady and unreadable. I felt my pulse skip.
Then she looked away, and I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it.
That night, after everyone drifted into their rooms, I lay awake listening to the waves crash. The beach house walls were thin, and I could hear faint laughter down the hall. I thought of summers past—sandcastles, late-night movies, whispered secrets in the dark.
But this summer… already, it felt different.
I thought of Mikha’s hug, her easy warmth.
I thought of Colet’s quiet gaze, the way it lingered.
And I knew sleep wouldn’t come easily.
The floorboards creaked faintly as I shifted in bed, restless. Outside my window, the waves crashed in rhythm, like a heartbeat I couldn’t ignore. I pressed my cheek against the pillow, but my mind wouldn’t stop racing.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake my brother. The hallway smelled faintly of salt and old wood, familiar and comforting.
Downstairs, the house was quiet, only the distant hum of the refrigerator breaking the silence. I tiptoed across the porch, barefoot, and stepped outside.
The night air was cool against my skin. The stars stretched endlessly above me, brighter here than back in the city. I breathed in deep, letting the ocean air fill me.
And then—
“You couldn’t sleep either?”
I turned.
Colet was there, leaning against the railing, half-hidden in shadows. Her hair was loose, falling over her shoulders, and she wore an oversized hoodie that looked too soft to belong to her.
“I—uh, no,” I admitted, hugging my arms around myself. “Guess I’m not used to the quiet yet.”
She nodded, her gaze fixed on the waves. “It’s never really quiet here. You just have to listen differently.”
I moved closer, standing a few feet away. “You always say things like that,” I teased lightly.
“Like what?”
“Mysterious. Deep.”
Her lips twitched, almost a smile. “Or maybe you just don’t get me.”
Something about the way she said it—low, careful—made my chest tighten.
I wanted to ask her what she meant. But before I could, the porch door banged open.
“Aiah!”
Mikha bounded out, her hair messy, eyes wide with excitement. “I knew you’d be out here. Come on!”
She grabbed my hand without explanation, tugging me off the porch and down the sandy path.
“Mikha, wait—what are you—” I laughed breathlessly as we stumbled onto the beach, cool sand squishing between my toes.
She spun around, grinning. “The water’s glowing tonight. Bioluminescence. Come see!”
Sure enough, as the waves rolled in, faint sparks of blue shimmered where the foam touched the shore.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
Mikha let go of my hand only to dart closer to the water, splashing her feet. Tiny sparks lit up with each step. “Come on, try it!”
I hesitated for half a second before running after her, the water cold against my ankles. With each movement, glowing trails followed, like the ocean itself was alive just for us.
Mikha laughed, spinning with her arms outstretched. Her joy was infectious—I couldn’t stop smiling.
When she looked back at me, her face illuminated by the blue glow, I realized how much she’d changed too. Or maybe how much I was noticing now.
“You see?” she said, breathless. “Magic.”
I nodded, unable to look away from her.
And then I felt it again—that weight.
Turning, I saw Colet on the shore, still on the edge of shadow. Watching.
Her arms were crossed, but her expression… I couldn’t read it.
Suddenly, I felt torn between the two lights pulling me in opposite directions.
We stayed out there until the glow began to fade, Mikha and I collapsing onto the sand, breathless from laughing too much. Colet stayed behind us, silent but present, like a shadow I couldn’t shake.
When we finally dragged ourselves back to the house, Mikha squeezed my hand briefly. “This summer is going to be the best one yet. I can feel it.”
Her words made my heart leap.
But when I glanced at Colet, trailing behind us, I couldn’t help but wonder if “best” also meant complicated.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, waking me too early. My body felt heavy, but excitement pulled me out of bed anyway.
Downstairs, the smell of fried rice and eggs filled the air. Our moms were bustling around the kitchen, humming along to the radio.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Mom greeted me, kissing my cheek. “Sleep well?”
“Not really,” I admitted with a small smile.
She ruffled my hair. “That’s what naps are for.”
In the living room, Gwen and Sheena were already bickering playfully over which surfboard to bring out. Stacey tuned her guitar on the couch, Jhoanna flipping through her song notebook beside her. The house buzzed with energy, alive in that summer way that made me feel lighter already.
And then Mikha appeared, balancing a tray of mangoes like she was in some commercial. “Breakfast delivery for my favorite person!”
I rolled my eyes but took a slice anyway. “You’ve been awake since when?”
“Since forever. I had to watch the sunrise. It’s tradition.”
Before I could respond, Colet walked in, hair still damp from a shower, wearing a plain white shirt that somehow made her look effortless.
Mikha immediately shot her a grin. “Want a mango slice, Colet?”
“No thanks,” Colet said simply, grabbing a cup of coffee instead.
“See?” Mikha whispered dramatically to me. “She doesn’t like sweets. Who doesn’t like sweets?”
I laughed, but part of me was still watching Colet. Always watching.
Later that day, we all headed to the beach together, arms full of towels, volleyballs, and snacks. The sand was hot, the water sparkling.
Mikha challenged me to a race into the waves, and I couldn’t say no. We sprinted, laughing, crashing into the water together. For a moment, everything else disappeared—it was just us, sun and salt and laughter.
But when I surfaced, sputtering and grinning, I caught sight of Colet on the shore again. Sitting under the shade, knees pulled up, watching. Always watching.
And it hit me.
This summer really was going to be different.
Not just because we’d grown up. Not just because the days felt heavier with meaning.
But because something unspoken was already pulling at us, weaving between the three of us in ways I didn’t yet understand.
And deep down, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for the choice I knew was coming.
That night, as the first bonfire crackled on the sand and everyone gathered around singing, laughing, and roasting marshmallows, I realized something I couldn’t ignore.
This summer wasn’t just about the beach house.
It wasn’t even about the sea, or the stars, or the memories we kept building here.
It was about the two pairs of eyes that kept finding mine—one bright and open, the other steady and unreadable.
And my heart, caught somewhere in between.