Summer's POV
The morning they left, the sky was impossibly blue.
It wasn't the gray, storm-waiting sky she remembered from ten years ago.
This one was calm, wide, forgiving.
Summer stood by the dock, a small duffel at her feet, watching the tide shift under the wooden planks.
The air smelled like salt and sunlight—both too familiar and too kind.
The crew moved quietly around them, loading equipment, rolling cables, packing boxes.
But she barely noticed. Her eyes were on the horizon,
the same one that had once terrified her—
now it felt like a welcome.
Ethan joined her, camera bag over his shoulder, hair ruffled by the wind.
"Feels different this time," he said.
She smiled. "It feels like the island's letting us go."
He looked out at the waves. "Or maybe we're finally letting it go."
She thought about that for a moment.
The truth was—they'd both carried this place inside them for years.
Not as trauma anymore, but as memory that had grown roots.
"Either way," she said softly, "I think we're even now."
---
Ethan's POV
He laughed quietly at her words, nodding. "Yeah. Even."
He walked a few steps closer to the waterline. The tide lapped against his shoes,
and for the briefest second, he saw flashes of what had been—
the shelters, the arguments, the exhaustion, the cameras,
the two of them younger, sharper, and scared of being seen.
He smiled at the ghosts. They didn't hurt anymore.
They just… existed.
Summer came to stand beside him. "Do you ever think we'd have ended up here if we hadn't come back?"
He shook his head. "No. We'd have kept remembering it wrong."
She tilted her head. "Wrong?"
"Yeah," he said. "We would've kept calling it pain when it was actually growth."
She smiled at that, eyes bright but calm. "You sound like your letters."
He grinned. "Guess the sea taught me how to edit."
---
Summer's POV
When the crew called out that the boat was ready, she hesitated a moment longer,
her gaze drifting to the tree line one last time.
The palm leaves swayed lazily, as if waving them off.
Everything was still alive, still whole, still moving forward—
just like them.
She picked up her bag, took one last deep breath of that sea-salted air,
and followed Ethan down the dock.
The wood creaked under their steps.
Ten years ago, this same sound had meant escape.
Today, it sounded like closure.
When they reached the edge of the pier, Ethan turned and looked back.
"You ready?" he asked.
Summer smiled faintly. "You've been asking me that for days."
He shrugged. "Maybe I needed to hear you say yes."
She took his hand. "Then—yes."
---
Ethan's POV
They boarded the small boat, the kind that always felt too fragile for open water.
The engine sputtered to life, vibrating through the wood beneath them.
As the island began to shrink behind them, he turned the camera toward the horizon.
He wasn't filming for anyone else this time—just for them.
Summer sat beside him, her hair blowing wild in the wind, eyes fixed on the receding shore.
He zoomed in once, capturing the curve of the beach,
the spot where they'd first met,
the stretch of sand where they'd just found their old letters.
Then he lowered the lens.
Some things didn't need to be recorded to stay remembered.
---
Summer's POV
Halfway across the water, the island became a blur—just a dark green smudge against endless blue.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the wind whip across her face.
There was no sadness this time. Only peace.
When she opened her eyes, Ethan was watching her, his expression soft.
"What?" she asked.
He smiled. "You look like you're finally not holding your breath."
She laughed quietly. "Maybe I finally exhaled."
"About time."
They fell silent again, the hum of the motor mixing with the hiss of waves.
It wasn't awkward. It was full—the kind of silence that meant enough had been said.
---
Ethan's POV
He reached into his bag and pulled out something small:
a seashell, smooth and white, with a faint spiral at its center.
He held it out to her. "Found this where we filmed last night."
She took it carefully. "What for?"
He shrugged. "Just something to remind us that we came back—and left better."
She smiled, fingers tracing the curve of the shell.
"Then maybe we don't need souvenirs," she said. "Maybe we just need reminders."
He nodded. "Then that's what this is."
---
Summer's POV
As the boat neared the mainland, she looked over her shoulder one last time.
The island was almost gone now, swallowed by distance and haze.
She whispered, "Thank you," not because she owed the place anything,
but because gratitude felt like the right kind of ending.
Ethan heard her and smiled.
"Ready for the next chapter?"
She met his eyes. "This time, we'll write it slow."
He grinned. "Long takes only."
The wind carried their laughter out over the sea,
and behind them, the island finally disappeared into light.