Jinai and Anqien parted ways on the sandy marina parking lot. “Safe trip!” she called out as they walked away backwards, waving. “Hope you get some good reading in on the train.”

“You too! I-mean-have-a-good-trip—bye!” they shouted back, then spun and dashed away.

Once Anqien was out of sight, Jinai strolled to the roadside and waited for the next taxi. The junction lights changed, bringing a new wave of carriages. She flagged one down.

They took the quiet roads through the evening, northwest out of Muli Bay and a little less than a mile inland. Noise fell away, and lights changed from fluorescent white electrics to the gentler gold of burnable gas. The vehicle set her down at the foot of her steps.

As she unlocked her misaligned green door and felt the paint flake in her hand, Jinai was swept over by a gnawing feeling that she was missing something. Like she'd lost a belonging months ago, and only noticed now. Clenching her jaw, she shook her head and locked the door behind her.

By her sink, two glasses and two mugs glinted in the moonlight. One for her. One for Josa.

Her shoulders dropping, she slipped her feet out of her shoes. Her yellow couch held only a cushion, and her bed was littered with pillows that hadn’t been arranged in months. This place, she had bought for them—for that future that never was.

She hated that he was still here, hanging over her. He didn’t deserve any part of her present—and she hated herself even more for letting his memory linger here. Yet think of him she did, as she opened her cooler box and picked out a pack of dinner that she had cooked and portioned out the night before.

For years she had been invincible. Star of the show. Heralded from the start of her career as the future of sailing. And every loss in the finals of the Niro-Helfi Race, or any number of other races, had felt surmountable. Just another year delaying the victory to come.

But when Josa had told her, that evening, that he had found someone else in his new city, she had for the first time felt…insufficient.

How could he choose to give her up? That tirelessly stubborn part of her, the one that weathered her through the doldrums of every race, was still convinced he had been a fool. How did he look at a woman so admirable—champion of her sport, decorated and lauded—and decide she wasn’t good enough to keep trying for?

But he left because of that. He found a life in the mountains, doing what he did best. And I had mine, here, at sea.

Yeah, and he had another partner ready to go. Jinai rolled her eyes as she unwrapped her meal on her dining table. She began to work through the curry rice, one spoonful after another, but she barely tasted the meal.

She was long past the months of senseless weeping—the only thing that kept her holding her head high was knowing she deserved better than to let a thought like that drag her down. But staring across the table in the silence, at where he had once sat—one arm folded on the table, eyes closed in the slanting evening sun, and the other hand reaching over to interlock his fingers with hers—it was almost enough to crack her resolve open. He’ll be back when his placement is done. We can last out a year.

“Alright, enough,” she muttered, then resumed shovelling food into her mouth.

She was interrupted five mouthfuls later by the ring of her filograph. Bolting upright, she leaned over to pick up the device sitting on the other chair. With a push of a spring-loaded button, the most recent filogram lit the screen.

Just checking in. Looking forward to next Saturday! Did you want to hang out before | after?

She smiled thoughtlessly at her teammate's cursive scrawl. At least one of them had remembered their resolution to get in more frequent contact over filograms. Because that bone-chilling loneliness had yet to desert her, she let herself accede to Anqien's offer of socialising.

Yeah, come drop by at mine before training.

She only had to wait five minutes for a reply, during which she finished her meal and crammed the wrapping into her waste bin. She licked curry from the corners of her lips while she glanced at the screen again.

Will do! Could we visit the garden near yours? Always wanted to see it.

Be my guest anytime. Jinai sketched a small smiling face at the end, for good measure.

Thank you! You’re the best.

She smiled and shook her head, propping her chin up on her elbows, filograph on the placemat where her plate had been. Without her notice, the hollowness had lost its bite, and when her eyes darted to those cups on the drying rack again, that twinge no longer came.

Anqien left their dinner plate in the sink and retired to the living room couch. Among the clinks of spoons on plates, the rest of the family ranted over dinner about their customers of the day. Reclining with their head propped up on one armrest, they spun the filograph about in their hand, contemplating a message to Jinai.

Would a request to meet outside training be amiss? It was impossible not to overthink it now. They began drafting a message, erased it, and then started again.

Just checking in. Looking forward to Saturday! Did you want to hang out before | after?

It wasn't two minutes before their filograph gave a ring, making them briefly leap out of the seat. Yeah, come drop by at mine before training.

“Who are you sending filos to?” their mother called out. “Is it your friend Jinai?”

“Yeah, it’s Jinai. We’ve got training on this Saturday.”

Their parents muttered amongst themselves. “Must it be twice a week?” their father groaned. “Don’t you think you’re spending too much time there?”

The words smarted like vinegar in a cut. But it was nothing new. They gritted their teeth, rising out of the couch. “Training hard is the reason we won our qualifier.”

“Yeah, but you're doing that instead of looking for a job.”

“It is my job!” They were only just aware of their voice rising.

“What happens when you get too old to continue, huh?”

Oh, that took the cake. “Will you stop saying that?” they yelled, . Some people said they were impossible to piss off. Those people had never met their parents. Rising out of the couch, they stormed around the corner, gusting past the dining room to the stairs without meeting anyone’s eye.

It was this same song and dance every time. Anqien was making enough from their contract and winnings to get by comfortably without their help. But it wasn’t just about that—it was about how they’d veered sharply off the path their parents had charted. And somehow, they still hadn't figured it out. That this was how it would be for good.

As they raced up the stairs to their room, Anqien glanced at the filograph and scribbled out a reply. Will do! Could we visit the garden near yours? Always wanted to see it.

They slammed their door shut and sucked in a breath, gaze sweeping the tired sight of their room. Their bed was pushed into one corner, pointed towards the door, and their desk was tucked into the next, between two windowsills, all overwhelmed by their burgeoning collection of potted plants. Between here and there lay an obstacle course of their belongings, treacherous as the Sunken City.

As Anqien tiptoed over the coat they’d worn to the party, their filograph rang out a notification. They dropped onto their single bed and laid the device on their lap.

Be my guest anytime. A little drawing of a face glowed below the text.

Just like that, their frustration was overrun by fondness, like a tide washing driftwood away. They stared down at the message, imagining Jinai at the other end, sketching it with her finger. “Don't let this get out of hand, don't let this get out of hand,” they muttered. Still, their heart disobediently raced as they wrote their reply.

Thank you! You are the best.

Anqien flopped backwards, expecting their head to meet a pillow. But it met the headboard instead. They loosed a wordless yell as it banged on the wood, sparks shooting through their vision.

Somehow, they had a feeling it was too late to stop things getting out of hand.