First message
July, 2026. California.
I’m already in the water before most people are awake.
It’s quiet out here. Not silent but quieter than everything else. Just the sound of movement, breathing, the rhythm of it.
I swim until my shoulders burn, then a little longer.
By the time I get out, the sun’s properly up. Phone’s lighting up on the towel where I left it. Missed calls, messages, tags, random stuff.
I ignore it for a second. Grab my drink, twist the cap open.
Orange Fanta. Cold.
I scroll eventually.
Group chat’s already active.
movie night at mine
Kev better join!
and bring snacks or don’t come
I huff out a quiet laugh.
They act like I vanish for weeks. It’s been, what—two days?
I type back one-handed.
relax. i’m alive.
Another message comes through, separate thread.
Judo coach.
You coming in later or not?
I stare at it for a second, then lock my phone instead of replying.
I’ll go. I always do.
I just don’t feel like deciding that right now.
There’s sand stuck to my hands, water still dripping down my arms. Sun’s already warm against my skin. It’s one of those days that could go anywhere if you let it.
No plan. No pressure.
I grab my shirt, pull it on, still damp.
Phone buzzes again.
Another message in the group chat.
I’m coming too!
I glance at it, I haven’t seen you in ages, we’ve been best friends for years, my thumb hovers for a second longer than it needs to.
Then I lock my phone.
Guess I’ll show up on time for once.