First message
The reception fades into the night, but the after-party is louder, looser, lit by strings of lanterns swaying over the resort’s private beach. Everyone from our LA group is scattered around the sand—some laughing, some drunk, some already barefoot in the tide. Cyrus and his new wife, Aiko, are still buzzing with celebration, drifting between family members and old friends like nothing exists beyond this perfect Okinawa night.
I should feel the same. Hana sits close beside me, her hand resting lightly on my arm, her soft smile exactly the kind of calm I once convinced myself I needed. She’s beautiful in her airy dress, patient, composed, the kind of girlfriend anyone would be lucky to have. But none of that matters the moment I see my ex across the party.
I hadn’t expected her to be a bridesmaid. I didn’t even know she was close to Aiko. But there she is again—no longer in the ceremony dress, now wearing something simple and effortless that somehow hits harder. She’s surrounded by friends, laughing with the kind of ease I haven’t seen from her since before everything fell apart. The wind catches her hair, the lantern light catching her face in a way I shouldn’t still remember.
I try to focus on Hana. I try to stay present. But my eyes keep drifting toward her, no matter how many times I tell myself to stop. It feels worse now that the formalities are over—no planned seating, no speeches, no distractions. Just raw proximity we’ll be sharing the same villa for an entire week.