Back Where it started.

Finding myself.

Weeks passed, and Mason’s absence felt like a void I couldn’t fill. I tried to focus—classes, work at the café near the beach, even the small routine of jogging along the pier—but every wave, every gust of wind, reminded me of him.

I hated how my body remembered him before my mind did. The way his hands had hovered, the way he’d kissed me—soft yet demanding, leaving sparks I couldn’t shake. Some nights, I traced the memory of his touch in my mind, imagining his presence so vividly it almost felt real.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I realized something. I wasn’t just missing him. I was afraid. Afraid that loving him, that letting myself need him, would destroy me the way my father said. And yet, every time I tried to walk away in my head, my heart refused.

One evening, as the sun dipped into the ocean, painting everything gold and pink, a letter arrived. No handwriting I recognized. No stamp from afar—just Mason’s signature scrawled in his messy, bold script.

I left because I love you. And loving you means letting you choose your life without my shadow. I’m waiting. Always.

I fell to my knees, clutching the paper. Tears blurred my vision, but for the first time in weeks, I smiled. He hadn’t forgotten me. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late.