The air smelled of salt and burnt sugar as Lila pulled her coat tighter, her boots crunching over gravel. The boardwalk creaked beneath her, a familiar sound that had once felt like home. Now it groaned like a tired man, warning her to turn back. But the lighthouse stood at the edge of the sea, its beam slicing through the dusk like a blade. She didn’t know why she’d come. Maybe it was the letter, or the way his name had lingered on her tongue for weeks. Maybe she just needed to see it again—the place where everything had unraveled.
The door swung open with a groan, releasing the scent of mildew and old wood. Inside, the walls were lined with jars of preserved fruit, their labels faded. Lila’s fingers brushed against a jar labeled *Rhubarb*—her mother’s handwriting, smudged by time. She remembered the summers she’d spent here, peeling fruit until her hands blistered, her father’s voice rising over the hum of the juicer. Now the kitchen was empty, save for the dust that swirled in the slanting light.
A voice cut through the silence. “You still use that old juicer?”
Lila spun. Finn stood in the doorway, his shirt sleeves rolled up, hands caked with dirt. His hair was shorter than she remembered, and there was a scar along his jawline, sharp as a knife. He looked like a man who’d been living on the edge of something.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, stepping inside. The door slammed behind him, sealing them in.
Lila’s throat tightened. “I didn’t think I would either.” She studied him, the way his eyes lingered on the jars, the way his shoulders hunched as if bracing for a storm. “Why’d you write?”
Finn exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I needed to see it again. The lighthouse. The sea. Everything.” His voice was lower now, rougher, like gravel underfoot. “You left without saying goodbye.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” she said, but the words felt hollow. She’d chosen the city, the noise, the anonymity. Finn had stayed, tied to this place like a stone to a shoe.
He stepped closer, and the scent of his cologne—citrus and something wild—wrapped around her. “You always had a choice,” he said. “But you didn’t take it.”
The silence between them was thick, heavy with what wasn’t said. Lila’s fingers twitched, wanting to reach for him, to pull him back into the days when their hands had fit together like puzzle pieces. But the past was a ghost, and ghosts didn’t stay.
“You’re here now,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Finn nodded, but his eyes were distant, as if he was already somewhere else. “I’ve been back before. Every year. But it never feels the same.” He gestured to the jars. “This place… it’s like a museum. Everything’s frozen.”
Lila looked around, seeing it through his eyes. The juicer, the jars, the faded wallpaper—each object a relic of a life that had slipped away. “Maybe that’s the point,” she said. “To hold on to something before it disappears.”
Finn’s gaze softened, but there was a flicker of something else, something dangerous. “And what if you’re not ready to let go?” His hand brushed hers, brief and electric, like a spark against dry wood. “What if you want to stay?”
The question hung between them, raw and unspoken. Lila’s heart thudded in her chest, a frantic rhythm she couldn’t control. She wanted to say yes, to throw herself into his arms and forget the city, the noise, the life she’d built. But fear coiled in her gut, a familiar weight. “I don’t know if I can,” she admitted.
Finn’s smile was sad, almost tender. “Then don’t. Just… be here. For a while.” He stepped back, his posture relaxed but his eyes still searching hers. “Let me show you something.”
Lila followed him outside, the night air biting at her skin. The lighthouse loomed ahead, its beam sweeping the horizon in slow, deliberate arcs. Finn led her down to the beach, where the waves lapped at the shore in a steady rhythm. The moon hung low, casting silver light over the water.
“This is where I used to come when I couldn’t sleep,” he said, sitting on a rock. “The sea… it’s the only thing that never lies.”
Lila joined him, the cold seeping into her bones. She stared at the water, at the way it shimmered under the moonlight. “It’s beautiful,” she said, but the words felt inadequate.
Finn turned to her, his face half-lit by the moon. “You always said that. Even when we were kids, you’d stand here and say things like that. Like you could see something I couldn’t.”
She laughed, a sound that felt foreign in her chest. “I guess I did.”
For a moment, they sat in silence, the only sounds the crash of the waves and the distant call of gulls. Lila felt the tension in her shoulders ease, replaced by a quiet warmth. It was strange, being here with him again. Like stepping into a dream she’d forgotten she’d had.
“You’re still stubborn,” Finn said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Like you always were.”
Lila arched an eyebrow. “And you’re still a pain in the ass.”
He grinned, and for a second, he was the boy she’d known—reckless, impulsive, full of life. The thought made her heart ache. “I missed this,” she said, her voice barely audible.
Finn’s smile faded. “I missed you too.” He reached for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers. The contact was light, but it sent a jolt through her, a reminder of all the things they’d lost and the things they might still have.
The sea whispered around them, a constant, unending sound. Lila closed her eyes, letting the moment settle. She didn’t know what came next, but for now, this was enough. The lighthouse stood behind them, the sea stretched before them, and the night was still full of possibilities.
Finn’s voice broke the silence. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”
Lila opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. The question was simple, but it carried the weight of everything they’d been through. She thought about the city, the noise, the life she’d built. Then she looked at Finn, at the way his eyes held hers, and she knew.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’m staying.”
Finn’s smile was slow, genuine, and for the first time in a long while, Lila felt something settle inside her—a quiet, steady peace. The sea still whispered around them, but now it sounded like a promise.
