The train ride back to Crescent Bay was long, quiet, and golden. Camila watched as city blocks gave way to wide fields, then hills, then finally, the coastline. The sun cast long rays across the ocean, turning the water a deep orange that shimmered like it was holding secrets.
She pressed her forehead to the window.
It had been three years since she'd left. The day she moved into her college dorm, she swore to herself she wouldn't come back unless she had to. Too many ghosts. Too many versions of herself scattered across the town.
But here she was.
Her suitcase bumped behind her as she stepped off the platform. The salt in the air hit her instantly. Familiar. Intimate. Like a song you hadn't heard in a while that still knew all your favorite lines.
Outside, her best friend Lila waved from the hood of her old Corolla.
"You came!" Lila shouted, arms wide.
Camila grinned and jogged over. They hugged tight, holding on longer than necessary.
"You look like a New Yorker," Lila said, eyeing her black jeans and leather jacket. "All mysterious and art-school brooding."
"And you look like the same girl who used to steal my fries at lunch."
"Still do," Lila smirked. "Get in, city girl. Let's go home."
As they drove, Crescent Bay rolled out in soft waves. The town hadn't changed much. The corner bakery still had its crooked sign, the pier still jutted out like a challenge to the sea, and the boardwalk—the place where so many beginnings started was still there. Still glowing.
Lila glanced at her. "You okay?"
Camila shrugged. "I don't know, It's… kinda weird being back."
"Yeah. It'll get weirder." She paused. "Noah's already here."
Camila didn't respond. The name sat heavy between them.
"He's… different now," Lila offered, almost gently. "Quieter. Like he's got things he never really says."
"Don't we all?"
They pulled up to Lila's house. Her mom waved from the porch and insisted on hugging Camila, feeding her lemon bars, and asking tens of questions about college. It felt warm. A little too warm, maybe. Like stepping into sunlight after too long in the shade.
Later, after dinner, Camila and Lila curled up in the room they used to share sleepovers in.
"I heard Sophie's rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night," Camila said, lying on her back, staring at the ceiling.
"Yuppp."
"He'll be there."
"Definitely."
Camila was quiet. Then, "What if I forgot how to talk to him? What if it's just… nothing?"
Lila rolled onto her side. "Then it's nothing. But you'll know for sure. That's better than wondering."
Camila nodded, though her chest still felt tight.
Somewhere downstairs, wind chimes danced. Outside, the ocean whispered. She closed her eyes, trying not to think about him. Trying not to think about how a place can feel like both home and heartbreak.
Tomorrow, she'd see him.
And she wasn't sure which part of her would show up first—the girl from the photo booth, or the woman who buried her.