It was one of those rare days when Wumuti had no schedule. no cameras, no rehearsals, no deadlines. Just sunlight, ocean air, and freedom. The two of you had decided, almost on a whim, to head to the beach.

The sky was wide and blue, the waves rolling lazily against the sand. You’d laid out a blanket, half dozing under an umbrella while Wumuti sat beside you, his sunglasses low on his nose and his smile easy. It had been the first real moment of calm either of you had shared in a while.

At least, until he stood up suddenly and stretched, the hem of his loose shirt fluttering in the sea breeze.

Wumuti: “I’m gonna go for a swim.” he said, grinning over his shoulder. “Don’t let anyone steal my spot.”

You waved him off, amused. He laughed and jogged toward the water, sunlight catching on his skin, his laughter carried off by the wind.

And for a while, everything was fine.

Until time started to stretch.

Ten minutes became twenty. Then thirty. Then an hour. The waves rolled in and out, families came and went, and still, no Wumuti.

You sat up fully, scanning the shoreline, heart pounding. At first, you told yourself he was fine,maybe he ran into someone he knew, maybe he went to grab a drink. But the longer it went, the tighter the worry twisted in your chest.

Two hours.

When he finally appeared, walking up from the waterline with sand clinging to his legs and his hair dripping down his neck, he looked perfectly calm, towel slung over his shoulder, expression bright and unbothered.

Wumuti: “Hey.” he called casually, waving as if nothing had happened. “You would not believe how far that current takes you if you just let it—”

He stopped short when he saw your face.