Morning arrived quietly, filtered through pale curtains and the distant hush of waves. Elias woke before his alarm, eyes snapping open as if his body already knew it was useless to stay in bed. His heart felt oddly light, humming beneath his ribs with an energy that had no clear name.
He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned lazily. Then Malik's face slipped into his thoughts—his smile, easy and unguarded; the way his eyes had crinkled when he laughed yesterday on the beach.
Elias exhaled sharply and sat up.
He moved through the morning like someone newly awake to the world. He made his bed with care, smoothed the sheets twice, swept sand from the floor even though it barely needed it. When his mother came in with grocery bags, he was already there, lifting them from her hands before she could protest.
"You're in a good mood," she said, watching him with a curious smile.
"Am I?" Elias asked, though he already knew the answer.
She raised an eyebrow. "You've been humming since sunrise."
He laughed softly, embarrassed. "Must be the ocean air."
But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't just the beach. It was the possibility of something—someone. The idea that maybe, if the universe felt kind, Malik would be there again.
Elias showered longer than usual, letting warm water run down his back as he replayed yesterday in fragments: shared smiles, quiet conversation, the brief moment their hands had brushed. When he dressed, he changed shirts twice, finally settling on one that felt comfortable but intentional. He brushed his hair with more care than he wanted to admit.
Then he left.
The boardwalk greeted him with sun-warmed wood and the distant cries of gulls. His sandals slapped softly against the planks as he retraced his steps from the day before. Each familiar landmark tightened something in his chest with anticipation. When he reached the flat rock overlooking the tide pools, he paused.
This was where it started.
The breeze curled around him, cool and teasing. The tide was lower now, exposing rippling patterns in the sand and glistening shells trapped between pools of seawater. Elias sat, sketchbook balanced on his knees, pencil moving absently as he waited.
He waited longer than he meant to.
Minutes slipped into nearly an hour. The sun climbed higher, warming his skin, but the excitement he'd carried with him slowly dulled into something quieter. He tried to focus on drawing, but the lines felt empty without a subject. His stomach growled, a sharp reminder that hope wasn't nourishment.
With a sigh, Elias stood.
"Don't be dramatic," he muttered to himself. "You barely know him."
Still, disappointment lingered like salt on his tongue.
Above the beach sat a small café perched on a wooden ledge, its wide glass windows reflecting the ocean in fractured blues. Elias told himself he was just hungry—but he chose the place because part of him wasn't ready to give up yet.
He pushed open the café door.
And stopped.
"Oh—hey, Eli."
Malik stood near the counter, one hand wrapped around a plastic cup, sunlight catching in his curls. His smile was immediate and genuine, like he'd been waiting too.
Elias' breath caught. "You're here."
"Yeah," Malik said, shifting his weight, suddenly shy in a way Elias hadn't seen before. "I thought I'd grab something before heading down. I didn't think you'd—well. I kinda hoped."
That did something dangerous to Elias' chest.
"Want to sit?" Malik asked, gesturing toward the table by the window.
"Sure," Elias said, a little too fast.
They sat facing each other, the table between them glowing with reflected sunlight. Outside, waves rolled lazily toward shore. Inside, everything felt sharper—every glance, every movement.
Elias stirred his iced tea slowly, watching the ice clink against the glass. Malik tore a piece from his muffin, fingers dusted with sugar.
"I wasn't sure you'd come back," Elias admitted quietly.
"Me neither," Malik replied. Then, softer, "But I wanted to see you again."
The words settled warmly between them.
They talked easily after that. About nothing. About everything. Malik told stories of helping his aunt with fishing boats, of growing up near the cliffs and learning to read the ocean like a second language. Elias spoke about art—how drawing helped him say things he couldn't always speak out loud.
"Do you draw every day?" Malik asked.
"Only when I feel something," Elias said.
Malik held his gaze. "Did you feel something yesterday?"
Elias laughed, heat rising to his cheeks. "You don't make it easy to pretend I didn't."
"Why pretend?" Malik asked, voice low, sincere.
When they finally left the café, the afternoon sun wrapped them in gold. As they walked down toward the beach, Malik's hand brushed against Elias'.
Neither of them pulled away.