The California sun hit the ocean like a thousand tiny mirrors, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe.

We’d come to the beach as a group—just another weekend trip before life got too serious. Ryan had begged me to tag along, promising it’d be chill: surf, music, cheap beer, and no responsibilities. I hadn’t expected her.

His sister.

She wasn’t supposed to be here—at least that’s what Ryan said when we packed the car. But now she was, standing by the water with her hair loose and her laughter mixing with the waves. The kind of sound that sneaks under your skin.

Her name was Layla.

She looked nothing like the quiet, bookish girl I remembered from a few years ago. She was older now—sunlight kissed her skin, and the wind kept playing with her hair as if even it couldn’t stay away.

I don’t believe in “love at first sight.” But I do believe in moments—the kind that shift something inside you before you can stop it. This was one of them.

Ryan yelled something from the waves, snapping me out of it. I forced a laugh, pretending I hadn’t been staring. She turned then—right at me—and smiled. Just a polite, small curve of her lips. But my chest tightened like she’d seen everything I was trying to hide.

She walked over, sand clinging to her feet.

“You’re Ethan, right?” she asked.

Her voice—God, it was soft.

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Ryan’s annoying best friend.”

That made her laugh. “At least you know it.”

And that was it. Nothing more. But somehow, the air felt different after.

I should’ve looked away. I should’ve reminded myself she was Ryan’s sister. But instead, I kept finding her in the crowd all afternoon. Every glance felt like I was falling into something I couldn’t name—and definitely shouldn’t want.

⸻

Layla

Ethan wasn’t what I expected.

Ryan always described him as “the reckless one,” the guy who drove too fast and flirted with anything that moved. But the boy sitting across from me by the bonfire that night wasn’t reckless. He was quiet. Thoughtful. Like he carried too much inside and didn’t know where to put it.

He caught me staring once. I looked away too fast, pretending to poke at the sand.

There was something about him—something careful. And that was dangerous, because careful boys are the ones who mean it when they look at you.

He asked me where I’d been studying. I told him about my photography classes, how I loved the way a camera could freeze emotion. He smiled, like he understood.

But there was something else in his eyes—something he wasn’t saying. And I didn’t ask.

The ocean crashed somewhere behind us, and for a second, I thought maybe this trip would change everything. I didn’t know how or why, but I felt it.

And if Ethan felt it too… he was hiding it well.

Layla

The beach looked different at night — quieter, almost like it was holding its breath. Everyone else had gone back to the cabins, but I couldn’t sleep. The air was too soft, the waves too loud, and my thoughts wouldn’t stop replaying every glance Ethan and I shared that day.

I told myself it was nothing. He was just Ryan’s best friend — polite, funny, easy to be around. But the truth was, something about him felt… safe. Safe, and dangerous all at once.

I sat on the sand with my camera in hand, pretending I was here to take photos of the stars reflecting on the water. I didn’t expect him to show up.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Ethan’s voice broke through the sound of the ocean.

I turned, smiling before I could stop myself. “You too, huh?”

He shrugged, walking closer. “Ryan snores like a chainsaw. I came out here to save my sanity.”

I laughed — soft, but it felt good. He sat beside me, a little too close, but not close enough to touch. For a long time, we just listened to the waves.

“I like it like this,” I said after a while. “When it’s quiet.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s like the world finally stops yelling.”

I turned the camera toward him. “Smile.”

He blinked. “What? No way—”

Click.

I caught it anyway — his half-surprised, half-smiling face lit by moonlight. I looked at the photo on my screen and smiled. “Perfect.”

He leaned slightly toward me, voice low. “You say that like you mean it.”

“I do,” I whispered. And for a second, neither of us breathed.

⸻

Ethan

If I’d had any sense, I would’ve walked away the moment I saw her alone by the water. But something about Layla made the world quieter, like the noise in my head finally knew when to stop.

She was sitting cross-legged in the sand, camera in her lap, looking at the ocean like she belonged to it. I’d never seen someone so still and alive at the same time.

I tried not to stare. Tried harder not to care. She was Ryan’s sister, for God’s sake. There were a hundred unspoken rules I’d be breaking just by sitting here.

But then she looked at me and smiled. And suddenly, every rule felt like a suggestion.

We didn’t talk much, but it didn’t feel awkward. It felt… right. She laughed at my jokes, even the bad ones. The kind of laugh that makes you want to hear it again.

When she took that photo, something inside me twisted. The sound of the shutter was small, but it felt huge — like she’d captured something I didn’t mean to show.

She looked at the screen, then at me, and whispered, “Perfect.”

And I swear, for a heartbeat, I thought she was talking about us.

I turned back to the water before I could say something stupid. Before I told her what I was starting to feel — something I had no right to.

“Come on,” I said quietly, standing up. “Let’s get back before Ryan thinks we drowned.”

She smiled, brushing sand off her legs. “Okay.”

But as we walked back together under the dim beach lights, her shoulder brushed mine — once, just barely — and that tiny touch felt like the beginning of something I couldn’t stop even if I tried.

Layla

It had been two weeks since the beach trip, but I still found sand in my shoes. I wasn’t sure if it was the universe teasing me or a reminder that some moments weren’t meant to wash away so easily.

Miami felt louder than before — car horns, ocean wind, the hum of real life. But in my head, everything was still quiet, still moonlit, still that night on the beach.

Ryan was in the living room playing video games when the doorbell rang.

“Can you get that, Lay?” he called.

I opened the door — and there he was. Ethan.

Same brown eyes. Same quiet smile. But something about seeing him here, in my world instead of that golden California one, felt… different. Realer.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Thought I’d drop by and say hi before classes start again.”

I stepped aside to let him in. “You mean, before my brother traps you in another twelve-hour gaming session.”

He grinned. “That too.”

Ryan shouted from the couch. “You better be ready, bro! No mercy today!”

Ethan groaned but laughed, walking inside. I followed, trying not to notice how easily he fit into our living room — like he belonged there.

I told myself not to stare. I failed miserably.

Every now and then, while the boys played, Ethan’s gaze would flicker toward me. Just for a second. Just long enough to make my heart do something stupid.

When he was leaving later that evening, he stopped at the door. “Hey, uh… I was thinking,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “You take photos, right? Maybe you could help me out with something for my art class this week?”

I blinked. “Me?”

He smiled, that same shy tilt of his lips that made everything inside me go soft. “Yeah. You’ve got a good eye.”

And just like that, the quiet between us started to feel like the beginning of something we couldn’t keep ignoring.

⸻

Ethan

I hadn’t planned to see her again so soon. But the truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about her — the sound of her laugh, the way she looked at the ocean, the way she said perfect like it meant something more.

So yeah, maybe I used Ryan as an excuse. “Just hanging out,” I told myself. But I knew better.

The moment she opened the door, barefoot in a white T-shirt and messy bun, I forgot how to breathe for half a second.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound normal.

She smiled — that same soft, calm smile that had been haunting my head since California.

We all played games, joked around, and pretended it was nothing. But every time I looked at her, she’d look away, and I’d feel it — that quiet pulse of something alive between us.

When I left, I told myself to keep it friendly. To not mess things up. But instead, the words slipped out before I could stop them: “You take photos, right?”

I don’t even know what I needed help with. I just needed a reason to see her again.

On the way home, the Miami sky was streaked with orange and gold — like California had followed me here. And maybe, I thought, so had she.