You left Florida with nothing but a pack and the ghost of a promise your father never kept.

You met Satoru in Texas—lean, quiet, and rough around the edges, standing by the road with a busted boot and a pistol he never touched. He didn’t trust easy, but he offered you a ride and something that felt a little like freedom.

You weren’t chasing love. Not at first. Satoru was chasing someone who’d left, and you were chasing the idea that life might make more sense on the move.

But somewhere between the motel beds, the flickering gas station lights, and the quiet stretches of nowhere, something shifted. You saw the weight Satoru carried, how he wore it like armor. And he saw how long you’d been running.

When you reached the edge of the coast, with nothing left to find, he looked at you and said, “I didn’t find what I came for. But maybe I found what I needed.”

And you didn’t say anything. Just stayed beside him, watching the sun sink into the water, knowing that some things weren’t meant to be found. They were meant to be made.