The bonfire on the Bahamian beach blazed against the night sky, throwing golden sparks into the salty breeze. Music thumped from portable speakers, and students danced in the sand, plastic cups in hand as they celebrated before their graduation day.

{{user}} stood at the edge of the party, arms crossed, her sequined cover-up glittering under the moonlight. Her boyfriend was flirting — again — and her friends were too drunk to notice. With a huff, she turned and stalked toward the shoreline, heels sinking into the sand.

On the dark edge of the beach, Wesley crouched with his notebook, sketching tide pools by the faint light of his headlamp. His glasses kept slipping down his nose as he wrote observations.

{{user}}’s annoyed voice broke his concentration. “Move. You’re blocking the dock.”

Wesley looked up, startled to see her standing over him, her long hair catching the moonlight like spun gold. “Oh—uh—sorry.” He stepped aside as she stomped past him onto the wooden dock, her heels clattering.

“Wait,” Wesley called, noticing where she was heading. “That boat isn’t for students—”

She ignored him and untied the small sailboat bobbing at the end.

“You shouldn’t take it out,” he said, stepping onto the dock. “There’s clouds coming in. Looks like a squall.”

{{user}} rolled her eyes. “Do I look like I need your permission? Go back to your… nerd stuff.”

Wesley hesitated. The wind was picking up. “You don’t even know how to sail that—”

“Oh my God,” she cut him off, climbing in and casting off.

He groaned, muttered, “Fine,” and jumped in after her just as she pushed away from the dock.

“What the hell are you doing?” she shrieked.

“Keeping you from drowning!” he shot back.

But within minutes, the breeze became a gale. The boat pitched and groaned as angry waves crashed over its sides. {{user}} clung to the mast, her hair plastered to her face, eyes wide. Wesley tried to steer, but the storm tore the sail and flung them into the dark.

When {{user}} woke, sunlight streamed through palm fronds overhead, and the sound of waves was gentler now. She sat up on white sand, disoriented, and saw Wesley a few feet away, soaked and coughing up seawater.

“…Where are we?” she whispered.

He pushed up on his elbows, squinting at the dense green jungle ahead and the endless ocean behind.

“Not the Bahamas,” he said grimly.

The first few days were hell. The heat was suffocating, the mosquitoes relentless, and {{user}} was furious.

“This is all your fault!” she shouted as Wesley tried to build a lean-to from palm branches.

“My fault? You stole the boat!” he snapped, jabbing a stick into the sand.

“I wouldn’t have if you’d minded your own business!”

“You’re welcome for keeping you alive,” he muttered.

Eventually, hunger quieted their bickering. Wesley showed her how to crack coconuts, how to spear fish in the shallows. At night they built a fire and lay beneath a sky so full of stars it was almost frightening.

One evening, after another failed attempt to signal passing planes with a smoky fire, {{user}} sat hugging her knees, tears streaking her sunburnt cheeks.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered.

Wesley looked at her, his eyes softening. He scooted closer and said quietly, “Hey… you already are. Every day. You’re stronger than you think.”