Morning arrived with a hush over Rabbit Island, the kind of quiet that felt too delicate to disturb. Pale golden sunlight filtered through gauzy clouds as the tide rolled in gently, tracing soft lines into the sand.

Dylan woke early—earlier than the others—and wandered down to the shoreline. The camera hung from his shoulder, but his fingers never touched the shutter.

He wasn’t looking for a moment to capture.

He was trying to outrun one.

A quiet breeze played with the hem of his hoodie as he walked barefoot through the sand. The night before had been perfect. But this morning… something was off. He couldn’t name it yet. It wasn’t regret, exactly. It was something lonelier. Something almost afraid.

Laughter caught his ear.

He turned instinctively.

At the far edge of the beach, Hikari stood barefoot in the shallows, her hair tossed gently by the breeze, smiling at someone unfamiliar.

A guy. Maybe their age. Athletic, relaxed, confident. He had on a white T-shirt, tan skin catching the light, and his voice carried easily over the wind.

Dylan stopped walking.

His grip tightened on the camera strap.

He didn’t recognize the feeling blooming inside him, but it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even jealousy in the romantic sense. It was deeper than that. It was the ache of seeing something precious belong to the world instead of just to him.

He looked away before they noticed him and sat on a rock just above the tide line. His camera rested in his lap, untouched.

Behind him, soft footsteps approached.

“You okay?” Ren asked casually, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Sora followed, offering a quiet nod. Neither of them pushed. They just sat, the three of them staring at the ocean like it held answers.

“I’m fine,” Dylan said. It wasn’t convincing.

Ren raised a brow. “You’ve said that three times since we got here. You haven’t meant it once.”

Dylan didn’t answer.

“You saw her with that guy,” Sora said gently.

Dylan nodded, jaw tight. “It’s not about him. He’s just… there. It’s more about me. How I feel. How I’m suddenly not sure I should feel anything at all.”

Ren let that hang in the air.

Then: “You’ve liked her for a while, haven’t you?”

Dylan stared down at his hands. “I think I’ve been lying to myself about it. Telling myself being close was enough. But seeing her with someone else, even for a second… it broke something open.”

Sora glanced toward the horizon. “Sometimes feelings don’t wait for permission.”

“Or timing,” Ren added. “You either speak it, or it rots inside you.”

Dylan gave a quiet laugh—empty and sharp. “But if I say it, and she doesn’t feel the same... I lose her. I lose everything.”

Ren put a hand on his shoulder. “You won’t. You just might find something different.”

Back on the beach, Hikari turned slightly. Her eyes searched the horizon—and then the lodge. Dylan’s silhouette was missing. A flicker of confusion crossed her expression.

“Everything okay?” asked the stranger, noticing her distraction.

She blinked, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just... someone I thought I’d see this morning.”

He offered a kind smile. “Boyfriend?”

She laughed nervously. “No. Just a close friend.”

But even as she said it, she felt the hollowness in the words.

The day passed, but something subtle had shifted.

Dylan stayed quiet, watching but never engaging. He stood at the edge of conversations. He smiled, but the warmth never reached his eyes. Every time Hikari approached, he moved. Not far. Just enough to not be near.

By midafternoon, the whole group could feel it.

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t drama. It was distance.

On the shore, Hikari finally let the worry show. Sitting beside Livi, she spoke in a quiet, hesitant voice.

“Did I… do something wrong?”

Livi turned, brows knitting. “What do you mean?”

“Him,” Hikari said, glancing toward the lodge where Dylan sat alone with a sketchbook open but untouched. “He’s been avoiding me all day.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Livi said softly. “But Dylan’s going through something. And it’s probably not about you the way you think. It’s about you, just… not your fault.”

Hikari didn’t fully understand, but she nodded anyway, eyes tracing Dylan’s distant form.

As evening neared, the silence between them grew louder than the waves.

Dylan knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. But for now, sitting in the dim light of the guesthouse, sketching empty frames in his notebook, he wasn’t ready.

Not to tell the truth.

And not to lose her.

Not yet.