The sun poured down like golden silk, and the ocean sparkled with laughter.
Rowan ran barefoot through the waves like a child, calling for Isadora to catch up. She did, squealing when cold water hit her knees. Ash was just behind them, smiling gently, letting the water soak into his rolled-up pants.
Celeste followed slower, camera slung across her shoulder, sunglasses hiding her tired eyes.
She hadn't spoken to Ash all morning.
Not once.
She didn't need to. Not yet.
•
•
•
Ash was relaxed, maybe even a little freer than usual. But his eyes always drifted to Celeste. Even when he pretended not to look—he did. A quiet glance when she snapped a picture inches from his side. A stolen look when her laughter rose above the crashing waves. He never said much, but his gaze always found her—like instinct, like gravity.
Isadora clung close, occasionally throwing her arm around his shoulder in the water, or fixing his bangs with a teasing smile.
Ash… let her.
He didn't flirt back. But he didn't stop her, either.
Celeste noticed every detail.
She also didn't say a word.
•
•
•
Afternoon – Picnic
They sat in a messy circle on a blanket: Isadora and Ash on one side, Rowan and Celeste on the other.
Celeste popped open a soda and smiled lazily. "You really packed an entire lunch box, huh?"
Rowan grinned. "I don't trust anyone else to keep us fed."
Isadora giggled, tossing a grape at Ash. "Except maybe Ash. He's got the hands of a housewife."
Celeste rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses.
"I just like cooking," Ash replied in his soft voice, smiling politely as he picked at the sandwich in his lap.
The conversation rolled on, laughter easy and warm, but Celeste floated somewhere outside of it. Present. Smiling. But distant. Watching.
When the sun began to set, they took more pictures along the rocks. Ash posed with Rowan. Isadora stood between them. Celeste took the photos, then joined when asked, but somehow—every single time—she ended up on the edge of the frame. No one noticed. Or maybe no one thought it mattered.
She didn't mention it.
Instead, she told herself to stop being childish. To stop overthinking. To be mature.
So she smiled. And she laughed. And she cracked dirty jokes and made Rowan groan and Isadora snort soda from her nose. She was still the same chaotic, witty Celeste—but something was different now. Something guarded. And no one could quite see it.
•
•
•
Evening – Sunset and Snapshots
They took photos near the rocks as the sun went down.
One with all four of them, Rowan's arm around Celeste, Ash standing between Rowan and Isadora.
One where Isadora boldly looped her arm through Ash's and leaned close.
Another where Rowan pulled a peace sign, laughing beside Celeste.
But none of the photos had Ash and Celeste standing side by side.
Not once.
Celeste didn't complain.
She smiled in every picture, laughed during every shot, and kept pretending it didn't sting.
Inside, it did.
•
•
•
The beach day ended.
The sand dried.
The smiles faded into quiet exhaustion.
Everyone was packing up.
Ash folded his towel neatly. Isadora helped him zip up his duffel.
Celeste dragged her suitcase to the car herself, not once looking at them.
No one offered. She didn't ask.
Ash glanced at her—just for a moment—watching the way she struggled slightly with the weight, her arms tensing as she hoisted the suitcase over the curb. He took a step forward, ready to offer help.
But before he could—
"Ash, can you carry mine?" Isadora chimed in, stepping into his path and lifting the handle of her luggage. "It's heavier than it looks."
He hesitated.
Just a second.
Then nodded, taking hers instead.
Rowan was on the phone nearby, distracted, probably finalizing work stuff.
Celeste muttered, "Back to reality," under her breath.
•
•
•
Rowan drove, humming along to a summer playlist. Celeste sat in the passenger seat beside him, one leg tucked under the other, arms crossed as she stared at the blur of the road.
Ash sat behind her, beside Isadora. Celeste didn't look back. But she could hear them. The soft, occasional laugh from Isadora. The faint replies from Ash.
Nothing overly flirtatious, but close. Familiar. Comfortable.
Celeste didn't interrupt. She didn't glare. She didn't sigh.
She just stared straight ahead, wind teasing strands of her hair, while the ache in her chest settled into something deeper—something quiet.
The trip had ended.
And still, she and Ash hadn't said a single word to each other.
_____