a whisper in the wind | ✓

ten

THE PICTURES ARE GONE.

No evidence of what I witnessed yesterday exists on my phone anymore, which is odd considering I don't remember deleting anything, and I'm positive last night was real. But should I be surprised at this point? There's hardly anything known about the Other World, and maybe this is just one of its quirks. After all, no medium of replication can beat the memory of being there in the flesh. As confused as I am, it doesn't bother me as much as it should because I know I'm not the only one who knows the Other World exists.

Clark. He didn't show up last night, and I try to ignore the twinge of pain beneath my ribs while packing my things into the duffle bag. It doesn't matter, I try to convince myself. I'm leaving in a few hours anyway and then things will go back to normal.

After rolling up the sleeves of my loose button-up and glancing around the room one last time, I grab my bag and head out the door, only to bump straight into the only person who's been on my mind since my first night here.

"Karina"—Clark does a double-take when he notices the bag in my hand—"Oh! Shit, you're leaving already?" I don't even have a chance to respond before he's blurting out an apology for last night. "Look, I'm sorry I couldn't make it. I tried to find another way but—"

"Don't worry about it; it's fine."

"No, it's not. I — I swear I was there on time, but I didn't see the bridge. It was just... the ocean. And then I waited for you until you came back, but then my friends dragged me inside saying that I was nuts, but I'm not nuts because I know what I saw and you know what you saw and"—he releases a breath—"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ditch you on your last night here."

I can't be mad, because him not being able to see the bridge is a good sign. It means he doesn't need it anymore. And even though he's been struggling for different reasons during a different timeframe, perhaps he's come to terms with himself in a way where his safe space has proved itself to be beneficial.

However, this raises another question: if he didn't see it and I did, then what does that mean for me?

The epiphany I was expecting to have here didn't happen (even though the Other World provided the perfect opportunity), and maybe that's not a bad thing. Despite my parents' demanding expectations dragging me by the throat, it's time to admit that ignoring the insistent remarks is for the better, no matter how difficult it is. And sometimes, epiphanies don't come when you want them to. You have to work for it, step by step, piece by piece until it's obvious where the last corner of the puzzle fits.

"It's okay. We still had fun while it lasted." The seed of sadness in my chest begins to disintegrate because our ending doesn't have to be a bittersweet memory. Nothing about Eventyde has been bittersweet — only sweet, like mango ice cream and a peach-colored fox. Like lavender rays of twilight and soft eyes of shimmering gold.

Moments of pensive silence pass, each second counting down to my leave. We both struggle to think of something to say (goodbyes are always hard). Besides, what do you say when it's the first and last time meeting someone?

Clark finally glances up at me, curiosity settling between his brows. "By the way, that book you were reading... what happened at the end?"

I shrug at the random question, knowing that its ripped spine is probably shoved towards the very bottom of my bag. "I don't know. I never finished it, but I have a feeling that she'll leave and then eventually find what she's looking for."

He lightly kicks a pebble on the boardwalk. "Kind of like you, huh?"

"Hopefully."

We lock eyes for a fleeting second, and then I'm plopping my duffle bag down and wrapping my arms tight around his torso. He freezes from the sudden gesture before returning the hug, his chin moving to rest on top of my head. "I'll miss you." And your sunshine smile. Your bubbly laugh, your ocean scent. And I'll miss the melody of my name on your lips.

"I'll miss you too."

How hard can you crush on someone in the span of four days? Final answer: a lot. But it's not the end of the world; I'll get over it.

His warm hold leaves an imprint on my skin when we pull away as if every organ in my body is trying to savor his presence. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I really am sorry about your brother. We haven't known each other long, but I'll always be there for you."

The sentimental moment shreds into pieces as Clark raises a playful brow. "You live across the country."

"I'm trying to be serious here."

A wistful smile flickers across his face faster than I can register it. "I know. Thank you, I appreciate that. You, on the other hand"—he points an accusatory finger at me—"I better see your name making headlines one day for dethroning Hans Zimmer."

Shades of pink spread throughout my face as he brings up my unrealistic dream of being a film score composer. I didn't think he'd bring it up again. "Uh, no promises."

"Well, then promise me you'll at least try. And if not, then promise me you'll do whatever makes you happy. And drop Maham too. She sounds like a fucking headache."

Another nuisance I'm in the process of handling: How to Unfriend Someone You've Spent Your Whole Life With, an incomplete collection of essays that I want to find the courage to finish. And I will. Eventually, when I'm ready.

The sky is filled with endless possibilities, and if I can't go after my dream, then I'll find something that's just as great. Something that makes me just as happy and gives me just as much meaning — a close second. And knowing that somewhere in this universe exists a red tree with our initials releases a bit of the coarse tension that comes with thinking about my pending future.

"Deal."

When he offers his pinky finger and I wrap mine around his, he touches the top of his thumb with mine. "Yaksok," he says. "It's a promise."

After following each other's socials (he posts a lot of sketches on Instagram — how did I not know he likes to draw?), we save each other's numbers under one of the only dorky inside jokes we have: Clark Kent and Loise Lane.

I feel more content with this newfound confidence — that there's more to me than my parents' expectations and the countless wrong choices I've wasted time regretting. It'll take time to accept, move on, mend, and discover, and that's okay. The speed at which others are living at doesn't have to match my own.

Because the radiant horizon will keep greeting the ocean every morning, patiently waiting until the day I'm no longer stranded on the sun-kissed sand, but finally immersed in the cerulean tides. If the sun can be patient, then so can I. Step by step, piece by piece.

And that's all it takes for me to go back home with my head held high and my heart soaring in the clouds.

—F I N .