CHAPTER 1

AWAKENING

 

 

 

     By the time awareness is born, it’s usually already too late. Everything that once carried meaning, flavor, or scent begins to fade, swallowed by the chaos of a restless mind. Those thoughts seep into every corner of the mind, invading every cell of the body, every fragment of existence, until we finally understand that life is like a single match. Fragile and easily extinguished on one side, yet utterly singular on the other. Every match carries fire within it. Each burns with a different flame, a different color, a different intensity, making it entirely its own—unrepeatable. But there is one thing they all share—a story. A story that traces the life of every match from the very beginning—its birth, its bloom, its color, and, most importantly, its time. Time, which only after ignition reveals how long it will illuminate the world around it—a world unaware of its power, yet drawing strength, faith, and light from the glow it gives. But time moves forward without mercy, until at last she appears—hope. The hope that someday, somehow, it will return again. Maybe it will be another flame. Maybe at first glance, it won’t resemble the one that has already gone out. But when it catches fire, everything fleeting will finally make sense again.

     Let me tell you the story of a match whose flame burned so fiercely that nothing around it ever truly managed to extinguish it. Of how the love that once sparked it suddenly disappeared, leaving it to fate and its shifting currents—like ash carried away by the wind. And how that ash, settling upon fallen leaves, slowly became part of them, allowing something new to rise again—another cycle of life born from what had already passed.

Let me tell you an old legend. It says that one day, just as the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, a goddess stepped down from its fading light. She was so beautiful that the glow of her hair outshone every living thing on earth—and beyond it. But the goddess herself had no awareness of her beauty. For ages, she had watched the universe from afar. She watched it being born, shifting, waking, falling asleep. What had once seemed unchanged for centuries kept revealing something new to her every day. More stars appeared. New colors surfaced. New lights came into being. And she kept watching, careful not to miss even the smallest change in the world she guarded so deeply. Until one day, far away, on a small planet, she noticed him. A tiny flame no one else had seen yet. But she knew immediately that this spark—this faint, distant light—was different. She began to watch it quietly as it grew, its glow deepening with every passing day. And the more she watched, the harder it became to look away. Eventually, the desire to understand it pulled her down to earth. Hidden in the night, when no one could expect her, she appeared before him as something fragile, almost human, just beginning to learn the weight of the world. And the moment she stood there, she knew she was facing something that could change everything she was. He didn’t know any of it. He simply treated her with kindness. And that kindness kept changing shape, day after day, becoming something neither of them fully understood. That was how their love began. Years passed. His flame grew stronger, bright enough to surround them both. But her own light never changed, and so she didn’t see what was happening—how his glow was fading, night after night. Only then did she understand they came from different worlds. She was immortal, untouched by time. He was fragile in its grip. And the flame she had seen in him had blinded her just enough that she stopped noticing time altogether. And when they finally looked at each other—truly looked—she understood that what was already coming could not be stopped without leaving something behind. So she made her choice. She cut a strand of her hair and wrapped it around his left wrist. Something of her power passed into him, straight into his heart. That night, she held him in her arms for the last time. And when his flame went out, and his eyes closed on their own, she returned to what she truly was, and from then on, she could only watch him from afar. But she made their love eternal. And though she would never hold him again, she knew that what she left behind would never let that love disappear. That was how Fenix was born.

     On the day this journey began, nothing suggested that fate would collide with destiny. Neither side was willing to yield. On the contrary, each of them could only see what was already familiar. When two completely different worlds meet at a crossroads, each carried by a different current, what can possibly happen? Is it even possible for them to merge into something entirely new—something reality itself refuses to accept? In moments like that, all that's left is to breathe—in, out, in, out, so that what rests on the tongue never makes its way into the mind—or worse, into the heart.

Let me start from the very beginning. That night, unable to fall asleep, I tossed and turned restlessly in bed. Where did this unease come from? Could I just throw it out of my head like a crumpled piece of paper? I got up and splashed my face with cold water, but it didn’t help. The feeling stayed with me, following me all the way until morning. I woke with a single thought—would I ever get rid of it? Why had it appeared so suddenly? I looked out the window. The rising sun filled my room with colors that felt almost poetic, painting everything in an unusual light. And the scent… intoxicating, soft, effortless. I love freesias and their fragrance. Every morning they quietly shift my mood, like light breaking through deep waters, offering hope to everything and everyone for a better tomorrow. “Oh, Ana,” I thought, “what on earth is going on in your head?” Today was the day I was supposed to begin the journey of my life—the one I had been waiting for. I had saved for it for five years, and if it weren’t for my grandmother, it probably would never have happened. Today I was flying to Borneo to meet and see the love of my life. The growing need for touch, for closeness, pushed my excitement to a whole new level. Was it possible that standing at the edge of something I had dreamed of for so long, I was feeling hesitation… fear? Why? What if this journey turned out to be nothing but disappointment? I had spent years longing for this moment, and now I wasn’t even sure anymore. In just a few hours, my life would change—the only question was whether I was ready for it. I looked at myself in the mirror and, not having a habit of talking to myself, I suddenly shouted, “World, here I come!” but before that happened, I was going for a run. Lost in thought, I went downstairs, not even noticing the sound coming from the kitchen.

     “Where are you rushing off to? Didn’t you forget something?”

     “Good morning, Grandma,” I said.

     “Well, good morning. Where are you going?”

     “For a run. I’m so excited about today’s flight that I need to head to the park for an hour and clear my head.”

     “Don’t forget—you promised Laura you’d help her decorate the hall with flowers for tonight’s party at nine.”

     “Yes, I remember, I remember,” I said, hurrying out.

     Luckily, our house was close to the forest. For many years, it had been neglected, but over the past two, the city had put a lot of effort into turning it into a beautiful park everyone could enjoy. Paths, bike lanes, running trails, and playgrounds for the youngest had helped people reconnect with the nature around them.

     I started running after my mother died. It was the only form of escape that allowed me to survive. It saved me from the emptiness that appeared out of nowhere and left a festering wound deep in my heart, taking with it all the peace and harmony I so desperately needed at the time. Passing people in the park, I always wonder whether they’re running to shed the same kind of emotions I am. Or maybe they’re trying to make peace with a fate that, without asking permission, decides what’s best for them anyway. Sometimes I get the feeling that life is already written, and none of the choices we make are truly ours.

     Halfway through my run, I realized I hadn’t brought any water. The thirst forced me to stop. And then the worst happened. The only taste I remember after I came to was bitter, sharp, and slightly salty.

     “Are you okay?” I heard.

     As I tried to get up from the path, I swayed slightly.

     “Careful. You should probably sit down.”

     That voice again. Dazed, I opened my eyes wider and, leaning on a stranger’s arm, pushed myself up and brushed off my shirt. A sharp pain shot through my knee. Looking down, I saw a cut just above it. Blood was slowly dripping from the wound. Without looking up, I waved him off, signaling that I was fine, and limped toward the nearest empty bench.

     “Are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger asked.

     Not only did my leg hurt from the fall, but my head had started to pound as well. I lifted my gaze, squinting into the sunlight where the man stood.         Blinded by the glare, I waved him away.

     “I’m fine. You can go. I’ll manage. Next time, be more careful when you’re running.”

     “Me? Be careful?” he asked.

     “And who, me? I didn’t run into myself.”

     “And who stopped in the middle of the path? Me?” he shot back, slightly irritated.

     “Listen, my head hurts, my knee hurts. Just drop it and go.”

     When I looked up again, I saw the outline of his retreating figure, and for a second, it unsettled me. That scent of him when he helped me up—fresh, sharp, slightly sweet. I had never smelled anything like it before. What was that? Lost in thought on my way home, I decided to stop for tea at a nearby café. It was the only one in the area where you could actually drink proper black tea imported from Sri Lanka. That morning, there was an unusually long line, so I pushed my way inside and headed straight for the restroom. On my way, I waved at an acquaintance who worked there.                Seeing my scraped knee, she called out for me to clean it properly. When I came back out, she told me my tea was ready. I looked at her, smiled, and picked up the hot cup.

     Out of nowhere, a child burst out of the line. The child knocked into me, sending me stumbling toward a nearby table where a couple was sitting.  The cup in my hand slipped free, spilling its contents over my shoes and the shoes of several people in the queue. In the chaos, I suddenly felt someone wrap an arm around my waist. Looking down, I realized I was sitting on a stranger’s lap—he had caught me just in time, stopping me from falling. I scrambled up, muttering a quick “sorry,” and when I saw the clock read 9:15 a.m., I bolted. Ten minutes later, I ran into the flower shop that, thankfully, was close to my home. After apologizing to Mrs. Laura, I changed in the back into my overalls and rushed out like I was on fire so we could load flowers into the car for a reception for an important client.

     “Ana, what happened to your knee?” Mrs. Laura, my grandmother’s friend, asked.

     “That’s a long story. I’ll tell you in the car. For now, let’s just load everything and go. I still need to pack later this afternoon,” I replied, grabbing another batch of cut flowers.

     “All right, take those lanterns too and we can head out,” she answered.

     “Where exactly are we going?” I asked.

     “A major developer is celebrating the thirty-fifth anniversary of his company and is hosting a banquet to celebrate the occasion. Our job is to decorate his garden.”

     When we arrived, it turned out the seaside estate was enormous. The view from inside the house, stretching down over the grounds below, was breathtaking. There were people everywhere, but the scale of the decorating possibilities made me smile. I thought to myself that these people really do live well. They had hired around a hundred people for the event, maybe even more. The lighting alone was stunning. I could already imagine how, once all the lanterns were lit in the evening, the place would become the most beautiful in the entire area. Mrs. Laura had brought so many flowers here that the supplier sent eight trucks loaded with them. I just hoped it would be enough, considering the size of the space we had to decorate.

     “Where do we start?” I asked.

     “This is a map of the property with the locations of the flowers and lanterns marked. Please stay here, and I’ll take care of the area in front of the house and the ground floor, all right?”

     “All right. Then I’ll start with the garden and work my way toward the water. Please remember I need to leave at 4:00 p.m. to get home in time for my flight at 10:00 p.m.,” I said.

     Focused on the work, I arranged my batch of flowers and lanterns right at the entrance to the garden so they wouldn’t mix with Mrs. Laura’s section, and got to it. The noise and chaos all around forced me to put in my headphones and turn on music. That kind of isolation turned out to be the key to fast, efficient work, without unnecessary distractions. Time passed, flowers disappeared one by one, and people ran around like they were on fire. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a figure slowly making its way toward the water. I looked away, lifting the last flower pot to place it on the final step. I raised my gaze to assess the result of my work. In my head, I could hear music perfectly matching the moment. Suddenly, a shadow appeared over my right shoulder. I turned around. Right behind me stood a deeply tanned man, staring at me with brown eyes. His lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear anything because I had my headphones on. Seeing that he had a camera in one hand and a watch on his other wrist, I grabbed his wrist. Gently twisting it, I stared in disbelief at the time it showed.

     “I’m going to be late,” I whispered.

     Not paying attention to the stranger, I ran up the stairs. Was it even possible for time to move that fast? I’d checked my phone not long ago, and there had still been plenty of time left. Now there was nothing. Or worse—none at all. I ran like I was a horse pushing through its last stretch, desperate to reach the finish line, desperate for something I couldn’t even name anymore. I looked around, but Mrs. Laura’s car was nowhere near the gate. Luckily, one of the drivers was heading my way and agreed to give me a lift. The thought of being late kept tightening in my chest with every passing minute, and then another thought slipped in—the stranger from earlier, the one who had been talking to me. What had he even said? Right now, though, none of it mattered. I just needed to make my flight. I checked my phone again. Almost 6:00 p.m. Two hours gone. Just like that. I jumped out of the car, thanked the driver, and ran into the house like the floor might catch fire under my feet.

     “Stop.” I heard it behind me.

     “I don’t have time. I need to pack. I’m going to be late,” I said without turning.

     “I already packed everything for you. I had a feeling you’d be late. Everything you prepared is right here.” My grandmother pointed at the suitcase by the door and laughed. “Go take a shower. I’ll make you sandwiches. You can eat on the way to the airport.”

     “You’re the best grandmother in the world.” I kissed her cheek and ran upstairs.

     A taxi was waiting outside a short time later. At the airport, I still had two hours before departure. It sounded like plenty of time. It wasn’t. At check-in, I was told there had been a mistake—two tickets had been issued for the same seat. The passenger assigned that seat had already checked in, and there was no seat left for me. The shift supervisor tried to fix it and contacted a private carrier. They had a flight heading the same way an hour later, and after speaking with the client, they agreed to take an extra passenger. Just like that, my economy ticket turned into a private flight. I was escorted to the VIP lounge to wait. An hour later, I was boarding a plane that was already waiting for its passenger. Once on board, I asked if I could use the restroom. They pointed me in the right direction, and I dropped my bag onto the first empty seat before heading there. A moment later, I felt the plane start to move. I quickly washed my hands and walked back toward my abandoned bag—only to see a man sitting right in front of it. I sat down, almost hypnotized.

     “Is it you?” I asked, surprised.

     He looked at me—curious, slightly stunned, like he wasn’t sure if this was real. Before he could say anything, I just kept going.

     “We met on the stairs today. You were saying something to me, but I had my headphones on, so I didn’t hear you. What were you saying? And I’m sorry I ran off like that, I just didn’t want to miss my flight. Well—not this one. My original one turned out to be double-booked, or not double-booked—there was a mix-up and someone else got the same seat, that person checked in earlier, and that’s why I ended up here. I’ve had terrible luck all day. I got bumped into in the park, someone spilled tea on me in a café, and now this. I’m starting to wonder how this day is going to end. Sorry, I get nervous and I talk too much.” I finally stopped, took a breath, and held out my hand. “I’m Ana.”

He was about to say something when a flight attendant approached and asked if we wanted anything to drink. I said no. He only nodded. When she walked away, he started looking at me in a way that made the whole plane feel like it had shrunk, like there was suddenly nowhere left to breathe. He was sitting barely a foot and a half away, a faint, almost amused half-smile on his lips, and those eyes… My God. The longer I looked at him, the more my sense of reality started to blur. He looked like something pulled out of a dream. About six-one, athletic build, a tan like he’d stepped out of a travel ad, hair tied back, shoulders that looked like they could carry too much weight without ever showing it—and that gaze. Those eyes like two burning coals. Focus, Ana. Focus.

     “So?” I asked, my throat dry.

     He looked at me as if I hadn’t said anything at all. I tried again.

     “So what’s your name?” I asked.

     He looked at me for a moment without answering. People usually answered that question. Immediately. Noticing my irritation, he finally gave a faint smile.

     “Pablo.”

     As he said it, he watched me like a hawk. It took me a second to process it—not just the name, but his voice.

     “It’s you,” I said.

     He frowned slightly. “Are you okay?”

     “What is this? Are you following me?” The words came out sharper than I intended. My chest tightened. This couldn’t be real. It didn’t make sense.

     “Following you?” he repeated, leaning back a little in his seat. “Why would I do that? If anything, I should be asking you the same thing. What are you doing here?”

     I let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

     “Are you kidding me? Not only do I have a bruised knee and a headache because of you, but now you’re acting like this. What is this supposed to be? Some new way of apologizing for this morning? Or guilt?” My voice kept picking up speed with every word.

     “What are you talking about?” His tone changed—colder now. “You ran into me. If you hadn’t stopped so suddenly, I would’ve walked right past you. And later—you ran into me again.”

     “I ran into you?”

     “Yes. In the café. Don’t you remember?” His voice sharpened slightly.

     “That was you?” My voice rose before I could stop it. “Oh, great. So I’ve got a stalker now?”

     His brows tightened. “A stalker?”

     “How long have you been following me? The park, the café, that private event—and now this flight? And I’m supposed to believe it’s all coincidence?”

     “I think you need to calm down.”

     “Don’t tell me to calm down!” My voice cracked. I leaned forward slightly, gripping the armrest. “Don’t come near me. Do you hear me? I have pepper spray in my bag, and I won’t hesitate to use it.”

     “What the hell are you talking about?” he said sharply now. “Go back to your seat. I don’t know you. I’ve never seen you before in my life. Today is a coincidence. That’s it.” He half-rose from his seat, gesturing once for me to sit down.

     “Don’t touch me,” I snapped.

     “I’m not touching you,” he said, quieter now. “I’m telling you the truth.”

     “Step away from me, or I’ll scream.”

     For a second, he just looked at me. Then he slowly sat back down.

     “Do whatever you want,” he said flatly. He turned away, pulled out some documents, and focused on them as if I had already stopped existing.

I sat on the opposite side of the cabin so I could keep an eye on him. The knot of thoughts in my head only tightened, growing denser with every passing minute. How did I even end up here? A private plane—yeah, right. And me, naive as a lamb being led to slaughter, just going along with it. Trust him? Never in my life. Fear, shock, anger, confusion—my emotions were all tangled together, pulling me in different directions. And on top of that, his occasional glances in my direction. God help me, I just couldn’t fall asleep. If I did, I might not wake up. And of course... I fell asleep. A light touch against my cheek pulled me back to reality.

     “Ana, we’re here,” Pablo said, crouching beside me, those dark eyes fixed on me again.

     “Okay… I’m up,” I mumbled, still half asleep, giving him a small, disoriented smile.

     Only when I was fully awake did it hit me who he was. I shot up from the seat in a nervous jolt, grabbed my bag and suitcase, and headed toward the flight attendant, quickly asking if this was Borneo. She smiled and nodded. Stepping out onto the passenger stairs, I froze at the dim light hanging over the island. And then I saw him—Pablo walking ahead like an executioner of fate. I wanted to run. Of course, as if on cue, I caught my foot on the very last step. Falling, I could think of only one thing. Oh, Ana. I landed softly against his chest, my hands instinctively pressing against his shoulders. He caught me immediately, pulling me in to steady me. Our eyes met. For a split second—just a fraction of time—I felt my heart race. Or maybe it wasn’t mine. Maybe it was his. All I knew was that this day… this night… needed to end. Flustered, I stepped back, putting a few feet of space between us.

     “Thank you,” I said quietly. I grabbed my suitcase and started toward the hangar.

     “Ana,” he said softly.

     Hearing my name, I turned like a startled deer, eyes locking onto him with sudden fear.

     “My car is right there. I can drive you to your hotel if you want,” he said, gesturing toward a driver waiting nearby.

     “No, thank you,” I replied, bitterly, my pulse racing as I walked away.

     I made sure he wasn’t following me. He got into the car and drove off. At the customer service desk, they directed me to the taxi stand. The ride to the hotel took about twenty minutes. It was four in the morning, which meant I still had a few hours of sleep left. When I woke up, the sounds of nature slowly reached me first. The hotel was set near a lagoon surrounded by thousands of rounded islets, like fragments of some volcanic epic painted across the landscape on a world-class scale. The blue water reflected the sunlight like a mirror, forming shifting images that changed with every blink, as if the world itself was turning pages of memory. The only music this island lived by was nature itself. Distant sounds, birds calling, waves breaking—it was all I heard for the next seven days. And I wondered if I would ever stop being amazed by it. Life here felt like paradise for the body, the soul, and the mind. I intended to experience every second of it, fully, completely—one hundred percent. And in seven days, right before leaving, I believed I would see the love of my life. My grandmother had always told me that our family’s fate had been written into the history of this island for generations. Our ancestors came from here, and every new generation was meant to return to find its path. Dressed and ready, I went down for breakfast. At the reception, there was a notice offering guided tours of the island. I asked to book a full-day tour for the next day if possible, then headed to the restaurant to eat and take in the view. A few minutes later, a receptionist approached my table.

     “Miss Ana?” she asked.

     I nodded.

     “The hotel guide is fully booked until the end of the month. However, since yesterday there’s been a local resident staying on the island who knows it very well. If you’re interested, he’s available tomorrow and could show you around.”

The woman smiled, clearly waiting for my answer.

     “Of course, absolutely—if it’s not a problem. How can I contact him?” I asked.

     “Here’s his phone number. Just send him a text with the place and time, and he’ll meet you there,” she said.

      “Thank you so much for your help. Could you also point me toward the beach?”

      “Of course. Follow this path, then after about a hundred yards turn left. Go straight for a bit, then right. After that, just keep going forward and you’ll reach the beach.” She nodded and walked away.

     Okay, Ana. Straight ahead, then right, then left, and beach. Let’s do this. I went back to my room, grabbed what I needed, and with butterflies in my stomach, I ran toward the beach. On the way, I listened to the birds singing. The farther I went from the hotel, the louder everything became, as if the island was slowly waking up around me. I kept walking, smiling without even realizing it. And then I stopped. My feet sank into the ground as I froze. I looked down—the path had ended, replaced by thick, dense bushes. Where’s the beach? I thought. I was supposed to walk about a hundred yards. How far did I actually go? Oh, Ana… please tell me you didn’t get lost. I looked around, trying to remember when I’d last seen another person. Why does this always happen to me? I decided to step back a few paces and return to the path, then try the other direction. Paths always lead somewhere, right? I lifted my head, trying to figure out where the sun was, but the trees were too tall. Nothing made it through. Time kept passing, and I kept walking. God, I hope there aren’t any wild animals here. I don’t even know what I should be afraid of. I should’ve read about this place. Please let me meet someone. I pulled out my phone and exhaled sharply—no signal. Perfect. It was around 3:00 p.m. That’s not too bad, I told myself. But I’d already been walking for hours and still hadn’t heard the ocean or seen the beach. I should go back the way I came—but which way was it? Another hour passed. Panic finally broke through, and I started calling for help. Silence. Only birds. I sat down under a tree, suddenly starving, and that’s when I noticed the forest growing darker. Twilight was creeping in, step by step. What I started to feel in that moment wasn’t fear—no, not fear at all. Not even panic. It was something worse. Something that can be born in the mind of a person who realizes that the reality surrounding them might be the last thing they will ever see. It was the awareness that this might be the end—life fading out in the middle of wild, untouched wilderness, where unknown sounds echoed from every direction. And I wasn’t ready for that. So what now? Maybe I’ll play music on my phone—maybe someone will hear it and find me. But what if the battery dies? Then I won’t see anything in the dark. Oh, Ana, how stupid can you be? Alone on a foreign island, in a jungle, with no battery and no signal. If I could at least see the stars… maybe they’d show me the way. “Just scream. Someone has to hear you. Scream.”

     “Hello? Is anyone there? I’m lost, please help! Can anyone hear me? Hello? My name is Ana—hello?”

     Nothing.

     Total silence.

     Then I saw it—a bush with some kind of fruit growing on it. I stepped closer, leaned in, and just as I was about to pick one—a man’s voice broke through the silence.

     “I wouldn’t do that.”

     My scream probably scared every bird on the island into silence for a split second. Even the air seemed to stop moving.

     “Why are you screaming? Calm down.”

     “What are you doing here?” I managed to say, completely stunned.

     “My house isn’t far from here. I heard someone calling for help, so I came,” he said, then added after a moment, “Are you okay?”

      I didn’t know what to say. I looked around nervously.

      “Where are we?” I asked instead.

      “Come with me. It’s getting dark. This isn’t safe, especially for someone who’s never been in this forest before.”

      “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said.

      “Why are you so stubborn? If you don’t want to come, don’t,” he replied, turning and walking into the darkness of the jungle.

      I looked around. There was no one else. Only him.

      “Wait for me!” I shouted.

      After a few dozen yards, we reached a small hut right on the beach. A sheltered bay curved in front of us, its shape carved by the sinking sun until it looked almost unreal. I couldn’t believe people actually woke up to a view like this every day. I turned to him and said, “It’s so beautiful here.”

He came a little closer and stopped beside me, both of us looking out in the same direction for a brief moment. Then a cold gust rolled in from the water, cutting straight through me. I wrapped my arms around myself without thinking, and when he noticed, he pulled off his hoodie and draped it over my shoulders. I looked at him. He looked at me. Then he tilted his head toward the house—time to go inside.

From the outside, the hut looked modest. Almost forgettable. But the moment I stepped over the threshold, it felt like I’d walked into a simple, lived-in home that just happened to be hidden from the world. If not for the island details, it could’ve been anywhere near where I grew up. I slowed down, looking around carefully, trying to figure out what kind of person chose to live like this. It wasn’t big—two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom—but there was something about it that pulled you in. Framed photos lined the walls, wooden figurines sat on the shelves, and everything carried this quiet, effortless warmth, like the place had been built slowly over time, not designed.

     “Could I borrow a charger? My phone’s dead. I wanted to call the hotel to send a taxi,” I asked.

     “It won’t make it out here. The only way to reach my place is through the beach—that’s why I was surprised when I heard your voice coming from the forest,” he said.

     “What do you mean? The hotel told me the beach was close. That’s the way I went,” I said.

     “Which hotel are you staying at?” he asked.

     “Tropicana Hotel,” I answered.

     “Really?” He looked genuinely surprised.

     “Yes. Why?”

     “How long were you walking in the forest?” he asked, ignoring my question.

     Something about his expression made it clear he was starting to find this almost amusing.

     “I don’t know… since around ten,” I said, already regretting how that sounded. “Why?”

     “My place is about nine miles from your hotel. I’m honestly impressed you made it that far without anything happening to you.” He stood up like we were discussing the weather and walked to the kettle. “Tea?”

     “If you have it,” I said, still trying to process what he’d just told me. Nine miles. The beach was supposed to be right there.

     “You’re probably hungry. I’ll make something. I’ve got fish—we can start a fire and grill it,” he said.

     “That actually sounds amazing,” I admitted without thinking.

     I followed him into the kitchen, watching as he poured water into mugs. He looked completely unaffected, like none of this was unusual. Who is he? And why do I keep ending up in his world?

     I didn’t realize he was watching me until he spoke again.

     “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

     “What to do next,” I said honestly.

     “Maybe we should start from the beginning,” he said.

     “The beginning?” I looked at him. “What do you mean?”

     “I’m Pablo,” he said, holding out his hand.

     “Ana,” I replied, taking it.

     “Alright, Ana. I know your name. I know how we met. I know where you’re staying, and I know your whole day because I was part of it. But there’s one thing I don’t know.” He stopped, watching me like he was trying to read something I hadn’t said out loud.

     “What?” I asked.

     “Why are you here?”

     “What do you mean why… I got lost,” I said, confused. Even I could hear how little sense that made anymore.

     “I’m asking why you came to this island,” he clarified.

     “Oh… why,” I repeated, slower this time.

     “Yes.”

     “To meet the love of my life,” I said, turning my head toward the door just as someone knocked.

     Pablo walked past me and opened it. On the other side stood a slim blonde woman with bright blue eyes. The moment the door opened, she threw herself at him.

     “Baby, I came as soon as I heard you arrived.”

     Leaning against the kitchen counter and sipping the tea he’d made for me, I must’ve looked surprised enough that the second their greeting ended, Pablo turned toward me and gently eased himself out of the woman’s embrace—or, judging by the way she clung to him, his girlfriend’s—so he could introduce us.

     “Come in,” he said. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” After closing the door behind her, he walked over with the woman beside him, his hand resting lightly against the small of her back. “Ana, this is Jessica. Jessica, Ana.”

     “Hi,” I said.

     “Hi.”

     Judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me there.

     “Baby, can we talk outside for a minute?”

     The question was meant for Pablo, but her smile stayed fixed on me.

Great. Alone in a stranger’s house on an island I barely knew, and now possibly without a place to sleep for the night. Nice job, Ana. Really nice. Several minutes passed before the door finally opened again. Only Pablo came back inside. The confusion must’ve shown on my face, because before I could ask anything, he answered like he already knew what I was thinking.

     “I walked Jessica part of the way back to her place.”

     “There are other houses out here?” I asked quickly. “Maybe one of them’s empty. I could stay there tonight.”

     “So,” he said casually, ignoring the question altogether, “still up for fish?”

     “Fish,” I repeated.

     Pablo pulled two fish from the fridge, rinsed them under the sink, then rubbed them with salt before setting them aside. A moment later he headed outside to start a fire on the beach. I decided to make a salad. When I opened the refrigerator, almost nothing inside looked familiar. I closed it again and glanced around the kitchen until I spotted a watermelon, lychees, papaya, and oranges spread across the counter. The watermelon seemed too big to cut open just for the two of us, so I left it alone. Without thinking too much about it, I peeled the rest of the fruit. It would probably go with the fish. At least I hoped so. Though I still wasn’t completely convinced about the oranges. Oh well. I tossed everything into a large bowl I found in one of the cabinets and left it off to the side for a while. On my way down to the beach, I slipped off my sandals. The wind had died down, and the night felt warmer now than it had earlier. I walked toward the fire glowing softly against the dark shoreline. Could everything really change that fast? Could you stop fearing the unknown after only a few hours and start wondering if maybe it could become something good instead? Lost in thought, I lowered myself onto the sand, letting it bury my feet and slip through my fingers as though I’d never felt anything so soft before. There was something about that moment—about the island, the darkness, the quiet—that settled deep inside me in a way I couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the isolation. Maybe it was this place. Still staring out at the water, I let the sand drift lazily through my fingers, handful after handful. Nothing disturbed the silence around us. No voices. No traffic. Just the ocean somewhere out in the dark. And sitting there beside the fire, listening to the waves roll in and out, it suddenly felt easy to forget about everything beyond the island. Easy to let the silence wrap itself around me and simply stay in the moment for a while.

     “Ana.”

     My name carried toward me from somewhere beyond the fire.

     “The fish is ready. You coming?”

     “Yeah,” I said softly. “Sorry. I got lost in my head for a second.” I walked over to the blanket where two plates and the bowl of fruit salad were waiting. Sitting down, I picked up one of the plates and smiled.

     “I hope you like it,” he said, handing me the larger fish.

     “I’m so hungry my mouth’s watering already.”

     The first bite nearly made me close my eyes.

     The fish was incredible. Soft and smoky, still hot enough to burn my fingers.

     “This is the best fish I’ve ever had,” I mumbled around another bite, licking my fingers.

     Pablo laughed quietly.

     “Good,” he said. “Then it was worth making. I got the second room ready for you.”

     “After dinner we should get some sleep. I’ve got something to take care of tomorrow morning, so I need to be up early. We should probably leave for your hotel around seven. Does that work for you?”

“Yeah. I’ve got plans tomorrow too.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Sorry, I need to check if my phone’s charged. I should’ve texted someone hours ago. I just hope it’s not too late. Do you even get service out here?”

     “Barely.” He lifted his phone like maybe a third bar would magically show up. “Two bars, if I’m lucky.”

     “I’ll be right back then. I need to set something up with someone.”

     “With your fiancé?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm slipping in.

     I glanced at him.

     “Why would you ask that?”

     “Well, if not him, then who else do you know here?”

     “It’s something completely different,” I said, already turning away.

     Where’s that piece of paper with the number? God, this bag is endless. The second something goes in, it disappears. There it is. Okay. Phone. Message. Almost 9:00 p.m. Hopefully not too late. How do I even write this? Maybe:

 

     “Hello, my name is Ana. I got your number from the Tropicana Hotel. Sorry for contacting you so late, but I didn’t have a chance earlier. Are your              guide services still available tomorrow? If so, could we meet at the hotel reception at 9:00 a.m.?”

 

Send. Okay. That should do it. Come on. My phone started vibrating. I looked at the screen. Same number. Oh God. Do I answer?

…Yeah.

     “Hello?” I said quietly, unsure.

     “Works for me,” Pablo said. “Now come back before your fish gets cold.”

     What? I leaned out of the cottage and saw him by the fire, motioning for me to come back. I sat down on the blanket again, plate in hand, and looked straight at him.

     “I seriously don’t understand any of this,” I said. “Not even a little.”

     He didn’t answer right away, clearly amused.

     “Listen,” he said, “since we’ve already set the time, I’ve got a better idea. Tomorrow morning we’ll have breakfast, and instead of wasting half the day going back to your hotel first, we go the other way. I’ll show you a part of the island only locals know. No tourists, no tours.” He nudged the fire with a stick. “On the way back, we stop here for lunch, and then I’ll take you to the hotel. What do you think?”

     “I think I should probably just go back to the hotel and figure something else out,” I said, taking another bite of fish.

     “But why?” He frowned slightly. “I know this island really well. I can show you everything you wanted.”

     “That’s not the point.” I looked down at my plate. “I just don’t understand why I keep running into you. I came here for one reason.”

     “Yeah, I know,” he said with a quiet sigh. “Your fiancé.”

     “You’re not listening to me,” I said, irritation slipping in.

     He held my gaze for a second, then nodded once.

     “If you don’t want it, I won’t force you.” He stood up. “I’ll take you back to the hotel tomorrow morning.” He turned and walked toward the cottage.

I set my plate down, suddenly not hungry anymore, and moved closer to the fire. I sat cross-legged in the sand. My thoughts started tangling again. The sound of the waves. No voices. No movement. Everything was quiet. Only the fire cracking, the cold sand under me, and the soft wind against my skin reminded me this was real. The silence made my thoughts heavier, harder to hold in place. At some point, I must’ve drifted off right there beside the fire. A few hours later, I woke up with a gasp, sitting upright in bed. Pablo was beside me, crouched near the mattress.

     “Ana, wake up,” he said softly, brushing my arm. “You had a nightmare.”

     “I’m fine.”

     “If you want, I can stay here with you for a while,” he said quietly. “At least until you fall asleep.”

     “Okay,” I whispered, shifting over on the bed to give him space beside me. “Tell me something about yourself,” I said, closing my eyes. “I don’t really know anything about you.”

     “What do you want to know?” he asked.

     “What do you do? Besides being a guide, I mean.”

     “I’m a photographer,” he said. “Not a guide. Sometimes the locals ask me to help out, like they did with you.”

     That was the last thing I remembered from the conversation. After that, sleep carried me away like a tide pulling me under. The next morning, I opened my eyes for only a second. Pablo’s face was close to mine, his arm draped loosely around my waist. I looked at him, smiled without even thinking about it, then slipped right back into sleep before I was fully awake. When I opened my eyes again, the room was empty. I was alone in bed. Oh my God, I thought. Thank God I must’ve dreamed it. I stretched beneath the blanket, then froze. The memory of his arms around me lingered, making my heart beat faster. What is happening to you? Get out of my head, Ana. Seriously? I pushed the thoughts aside and got out of bed, walking out of the room as if nothing had happened. The kitchen was empty. So was the living room. I peeked into the second bedroom. Silence there too. Where did he go? He was supposed to take me back to the hotel. I stepped outside and headed toward the fire pit. That’s when it hit me—he must’ve carried me inside last night. The fire was the last thing I remembered. I looked around the beach, but there was no sign of him anywhere. I walked closer to the shoreline to dip my feet into the water, and that’s when he emerged from the ocean like something out of a myth. Waves curled around his body, water tracing the lines of his chest and stomach. I froze. He walked toward me, and the only thing I could manage to say was:

     “We’re going to be late.”

     “Good morning,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

     “Where were you? You said we were leaving at seven. It’s almost eight.”

     “Why are you so tense?”

     “What do you mean why?” I snapped. “You left me here alone. You could’ve at least left a note saying you went swimming. Then I wouldn’t have worried.”

     “You were worried?”

     “That’s not the point,” I said, irritated.

     “Looks like you slept well,” he said casually as he walked past me toward the cottage. “I’m going to change. We’ll have breakfast, and then we’ll go.”

     “What breakfast? There’s no time for breakfast!” I called after him, hurrying through the sand behind him. How does he walk so fast? Every step I take sinks into the sand.

     “How’d you sleep?” he asked over his shoulder as he stepped inside.

     “Fine,” I muttered. Then the image from my dream flashed through my head again. Him beside me. I quickly looked away and started searching the kitchen for mugs, desperate to keep my hands busy.

     “I’ll change and make breakfast,” he called, disappearing into his room.

      A dream. That’s all it was. Nothing is happening between you and this man. It was just a stupid dream. God, Ana, pull yourself together!

     “What are you in the mood for?”

     Pablo’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

     “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I’m starving. Like, seriously starving.”

     He laughed softly.

      “What’s so funny?” I asked, walking over to him.

     “The women I know usually don’t eat much.”

     “Well, I don’t know what kind of women you know, but if I don’t eat, I get cranky,” I shot back, moving around the kitchen.

     “Good to know,” he said, amused. “How about toast?”

     “Oh yes. Cheese toast, please.”

     I practically lit up at the thought of it.

     “Why are you so excited about toast?” he asked, pulling bread and cheese from the cabinet and fridge.

     “I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. “That’s just who I am.”

     We ate breakfast on the porch outside the cottage. In the daylight, the bay opened up before me like a hidden piece of paradise. Tiny green islands scattered across calm blue water, birds singing somewhere in the distance, colors so vivid they barely looked real. I fell completely silent.

     “Everything okay?” Pablo asked.

     “This place is beautiful,” I said softly, turning my eyes back toward the ocean while still feeling his gaze resting on me.

     “Yeah,” he said quietly after a moment. “It is.”

     Does silence always have to be broken? The kind of silence where thoughts slow down, where warmth spreads quietly through your chest the moment you realize the person beside you is lost in it just as deeply as you are—until the sharp ring of a phone cuts through everything.

     “Hello? Yeah. We’ll be ready in ten minutes. We’re at the cottage waiting.” He lowered the phone and looked at me. “Get ready. We’re going on a trip,” he said before heading into the kitchen without waiting for my reaction.

      “What do you mean, a trip? You were supposed to take me back to the hotel.” I hurried after him into the cottage, stopping in the middle of the living room with an irritated wave of my hand.

     “Listen, a friend asked me for help last night, so plans changed. He needs something urgently, and we’re going with him. I’ll do my job, you’ll get to see more of the island, and afterward I’ll take you back to the hotel.” He grabbed the camera equipment and backpack he’d prepared earlier. “Those are my cousin’s clothes. She’s about five-seven and around your size, so you should be able to find something that fits.” He tossed the words over his shoulder and walked out of the cottage.

     What was happening to my life? Ever since this man showed up, everything had turned upside down. And somehow, despite all of it, the thought of seeing more of the island pulled at me enough that I followed him outside, pretending I was still annoyed. As I walked toward Pablo, I noticed a local paddling toward us in a narrow canoe.

     “What is that?” I asked immediately.

     “What does it look like? A boat.”

     “I’m not getting in that.”

     “Why not?” Irritation was already slipping into his voice.

     “Because I’m not. I’m not going anywhere in that thing.”

     “Don’t make a scene. Get in,” he said sharply.

     “I said no.” My voice rose to match his. “I’m not getting into that thing.”

     “I’m usually patient, but you…” He stepped closer, frustration flashing across his face. “You drive me insane. Can you at least explain why you refuse to get in the boat?” He moved so close I caught the warm scent of his skin.

     “That’s not a boat, and I don’t owe you an explanation.” I lifted my chin stubbornly. “I’m not getting in.” I stared straight into his dark, ember-like eyes.

     “You are getting in,” he said through clenched teeth, holding my gaze.

     “No.”

     “If you don’t, we’ll have to walk almost forty-five minutes when the boat ride would take maybe ten. Stop being stubborn and just get in.” His voice softened near the end, almost turning into a plea as he leaned closer, waiting for me to give in.

     God, why did he have to smell that good? His lips kept moving, so close to mine I could barely focus anymore. I could feel the tension in his body. But I still wasn’t getting into that boat. Absolutely not.

     “I’m not going. Go without me. I’ll head back to the hotel myself.”

     Growling under his breath, he waded knee-deep into the water. He tossed the equipment and backpack into the canoe, muttered something to the man steering it, and after a quick nod, the local turned the boat around and disappeared into the distance. Pablo came back out of the water, went into the cottage to change, then returned with another backpack. Without saying a word, he pointed ahead. After a while of silently trailing behind him, I couldn’t take it anymore. This place was too beautiful not to ask about. I wanted to know more. I jogged up beside him with a smile.

     “Can you tell me something about this place?”

     Minutes passed as we walked side by side, stopping every now and then while he pointed out birds, fruit hanging high above us, and animals so exotic I wanted to capture every second on my phone. Pablo told me about the plants growing there, the people living on the island—everything important to him and to this place. Suddenly, he stopped. He pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for me to stay quiet. Then he stepped behind me, resting his hands lightly on my shoulders. He leaned close enough for his breath to brush against my cheek before whispering into my ear,

     “Look.”

     High in the trees, I spotted an orangutan clutching a bundle of orange fruit in one hand while gripping a branch with the other. A baby clung tightly to his side. And that was when I realized it wasn’t a male. It was a mother. The baby saw nothing except her, trusting her completely as they moved effortlessly through the trees together. I flinched every time they jumped. They were so high above the ground it felt like only seconds separated play from disaster. Sensing my tension, Pablo’s hands tightened slightly on my shoulders. I stood frozen, unable to tell what affected me more—the wild beauty surrounding us or his touch.

     I turned toward him and looked into his thoughtful ember-dark eyes. Then I stepped forward, slipping free from his hands. I glanced once more at the two little red-haired creatures playing above us before Pablo started toward a nearby incline. My shoes were completely wrong for climbing, and I kept slipping on the steep, damp ground. The earth shifted beneath my feet with almost every step. Without thinking, Pablo reached back and took my hand, keeping a firm grip on me whenever I slipped. The climb lasted only a few minutes, but it completely exhausted me. I’d never climbed mountains before, let alone jungle terrain where the humidity made everything slick and unstable. By the time we reached the top, my entire body ached from the effort. We were still surrounded by towering trees, so the view remained hidden. But one thing had definitely changed—every muscle in my body burned. God, if Grandma could see me now… The thought made me laugh, and Pablo noticed immediately.

     “What’s so funny?” he asked.

     “My grandma. If she could see me climbing this hill right now…” I laughed again, shaking my head. “Trust me, she wouldn’t believe her own eyes.” The smile stayed on my face.

     Pablo smiled too.

     “You’ve never done anything like this before?” he asked.

     “No. I’d never even left my city before. This is my first real trip. Thanks to my grandma, actually. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

     “You owe her a lot.”

     “I do. She raised me. She’s my whole world.”

     At that, he stopped for a moment. Something in his eyes told me he wanted to say more—but he didn’t. He simply turned away and kept walking. Then I saw it—a flicker of hesitation crossing his face, a faint shadow settling into those ember-dark eyes, like a question he didn’t dare ask out loud. What about your parents?

     We moved through thick stretches of jungle where barely any sunlight managed to break through the tangled canopy above us. I walked in silence, trying to take everything in. Despite the exhaustion, the sweat clinging to my skin, and the desperate craving for something cold to drink—something I would’ve traded anything for in that moment—I pushed it all down and let myself sink into the experience. Then, seconds later, everything inside me stopped. The heat, the ache in my muscles, the exhaustion—it all vanished at once. A lagoon stretched out before me, impossibly blue. To the left, tiny islands drifted farther apart, forming an endless chain of green fading into the horizon. With every stretch of land, the colors shifted—deep emerald softening into lighter tones until they dissolved into the distance. Below us lay a mirror of crystal-blue water, where scattered stones formed what looked like an underwater path curving into a crescent moon. A small boat rocked gently against the glasslike surface. The dock was short, ending exactly where the boat was tied. We climbed down carefully. I half slid, half stumbled down the slope while Pablo stayed close behind me, his hands ready in case I lost my balance and disappeared into the thick brush below. About ten minutes later, we reached the dock—but no one was there. Not on the pier. Not in the boat. Curious, I stepped onto the wooden planks and leaned forward, staring into the impossibly clear water. That was when I sensed someone behind me.

     “Farrel, my friend,” Pablo said warmly, walking toward the man who already looked genuinely happy to see him.

     “Pablo!” the man shouted, lifting his hand near his shoulder and making a gesture as if holding a phone.

     A second later, Pablo returned the same sign. For some reason, I found myself smiling, drawn in by the energy between them. They pulled each other into a quick embrace before reality settled again and I was finally introduced to this walking burst of energy.

     “Ana, this is my friend Farrel.”

     I reached out to shake his hand, but instead he lightly caught it and repeated the same gesture he’d shown Pablo earlier. When he noticed my confusion, he laughed softly and explained it was a traditional greeting from their culture.

     “Shaka,” he said with a grin. “It’s a sign of friendship. Good energy.”

     “Nice to meet you,” I said, smiling back.

     “Come on,” Farrel said. “Everyone’s already waiting for you.”

     As we crossed the beach, I listened to them catch up, speaking as if no time had passed at all. Even from a distance, their friendship felt real. I learned they hadn’t seen each other in almost a year. During that time, Farrel had started two tour businesses for visitors and gotten engaged to a woman named Elfi, which made Pablo visibly excited. How could one person carry so many different emotions inside him? I still couldn’t figure him out. Maybe we’d only known each other for two days, but sometimes that was enough to think you understood someone. Stop overthinking him, Ana. In five days, your paths will separate anyway. Focus on why you came here!

     “Well, look who finally made it.”

     An older man stepped out from behind a tree, glasses pushed up onto his forehead and wearing the strangest shirt I had ever seen. He was almost a head shorter than me, and without thinking, I instinctively bowed slightly, as though greeting a foreign diplomat. The moment I straightened up, he was already gone—moving fast, sharp, restless, barking instructions left and right so quickly that the petite woman beside him could barely keep up while scribbling notes. Chaos erupted around us. Without drawing attention to myself, I stepped quietly toward a calmer corner. What surprised me most was that I hadn’t even noticed Pablo disappear, already swallowed by whatever task had taken him. Fine. Let him go. I needed a moment to breathe anyway. As I looked around, I noticed someone watching me from a distance. I offered a shy smile. The man nodded and pointed toward a spot beside him beneath a rock formation, away from the noise. Remembering the greeting Farrel had shown me earlier, I hesitantly raised my hand and tried to copy the shaka gesture. Squinting at my fingers to make sure I wasn’t doing it wrong, I suddenly heard him laugh warmly. He returned the gesture before gently patting my shoulder.

     “I’m Ana,” I said, this time more confidently.

     “Azim,” he replied, studying me carefully. “What brings you here?”

     “My grandmother insisted I come and learn about the culture my ancestors came from.”

     “What’s your grandmother’s name?”

     “Sofia,” I said. “She used to tell me stories about this place when I was little, but she never really went into its history.”

     “Do you know any of our legends?”

     “No,” I admitted.

     He was about to begin when a little girl came running toward him shouting, “Grandpa! Grandpa!” She clung to his arm and tried to pull him to his feet.

      “Tell Farrel to bring you to me tomorrow,” he said before walking away with a small nod.

      I stayed there for several more minutes, wondering why my grandmother had never truly spoken about a place that clearly meant so much to her. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, my phone still showed two bars of signal. Without thinking too much about it, I pulled it out and called my grandmother. Silence. One ring. Then another. Still nothing. And then—a crackle. Followed by the warm, familiar voice that had always felt like home.

     “Yes?”

     “Hi, Grandma. It’s me, Ana.”

     Just hearing the voice of the person closest to me after two days made my eyes burn with tears.

     “Ana, I’m so happy to hear your voice,” my grandmother said.

     “Listen, I don’t know how long I’ll have service, but I need you to know I’m okay. Nothing’s happened to me.”

     “I knew you’d be fine. Have you found the path yet?”

     “No, Grandma. Not yet. I haven’t even started looking.” I glanced at the dying battery icon on my phone. “My phone’s about to die, and the battery’s draining fast, so I just wanted you to know I’m okay. Don’t worry if it’s hard to reach me over the next few days.”

     “All right, sweetheart. Just remember—you only have five days left.”

     “I know. Don’t worry.” I hesitated for a second. “I met someone today. A man named Azim. I’m supposed to see him tomorrow. He wants to tell me some kind of legend.”

     Silence filled the line. Then I heard her take a slow breath.

     “Then so be it. Go to him. But remember—find the path. It will lead you where you’re meant to go.”