I woke with the sun kissing my skin and the waves humming in the distance like a lullaby reversing itself.
At first, it felt like any morning.
Until I sat up and saw the notebook.
It was closed, resting neatly on the desk where I definitely hadn't left it. A faint red ring, like a leftover ember, faded from the cover as if the glow from my dream had been real.
I rubbed my eyes. Maybe I was still dreaming.
The sheets were tangled around my legs, and I could still feel his hands on me. His lips. Milo's. I ran my tongue over my own lips like I was trying to taste the memory again.
No. That was a dream. Just a dream.
Wasn't it?
Outside, the sea glittered like broken glass and Lena's voice rose from the cottage porch. She was sipping coconut water straight from the shell, draped in a white wrap, skin glowing like she belonged to Olympus.
And there he was.
Milo.
In a linen shirt barely buttoned, his abs peeking through like a cruel tease. His hair was still damp, curling a little at the ends. He leaned against the railing, talking to her, laughing low.
My stomach twisted.
The exact way I'd written him.
The exact shirt.
The same smirk.
The way his hand brushed his temple like he always did when nervous.
It was all there.
My scene. In motion.
I backed away from the window. My breath caught.
No. This couldn't be happening.
At breakfast, the déjà vu got worse.
Lena teasing me about "sleeping through the best sunrise."
Milo offering me a mango slice and licking the juice off his fingers with that lazy, sexy grin.
I blinked. "Didn't you just say 'We should write about this island before it writes us'?"
Milo paused mid-bite. "Yeah… why?"
"You said it yesterday. Or last night."
He furrowed his brows. "I don't remember that. You okay, Ce?"
Ce. He always called me that when he was being soft.
I nodded, forcing a smile.
"I'm fine. Just a weird dream."
He studied me, the way he always did when I lied. But then Lena pulled out her phone and asked him to take a photo of her under the palm tree.
And just like that, the moment passed.
Back in my room, I snatched the notebook. Flipped to the page.
The words were still there the kiss, the beach, the symbol. All of it.
I slammed it shut.
"What the hell is this?" I whispered.
A chill passed through the room, though the windows were closed.
I shoved the notebook into my duffel, hiding it beneath a layer of tank tops.
My heart was racing now not from desire, but fear.
If what I wrote really happened…
Then what else could I write?
And more importantly…
What if I wrote the wrong thing?