There was something sacred about summer mornings in Honolulu. The way the light spilled over the horizon felt like a secret passed down from the sea to the sky. He had grown up here—barefoot on hot sand, salt always somewhere in his hair. His mother studied the ocean, but it was his father who made him fall in love with it.

Watching his dad teach his sister to ride waves with a patient grin had planted something in him early on: the ocean was freedom, rhythm, and challenge all at once.

He was never the loudest guy around, but people gravitated to him anyway. There was a calmness to him, like the steady pull of a tide. Smart enough to make honor roll, charismatic enough to never eat lunch alone, and good-looking in a way he never really thought too hard about. He just... existed well.

He thrived outdoors, whether it was scaling volcanic ridges, joining beach cleanups, or cataloging insects in his sketchbook. He wasn’t just popular for his sun-bleached hair and easy grin—he was grounded, effortlessly present, the kind of guy who remembered your dog's name and actually meant it when he asked how you were.

Now 19, fresh out of high school and heading toward a degree in entomology, he spent his summer days exactly how he wanted: riding waves, catching sunsets, and cruising around in his new Jeep Sunrider—his birthday gift to himself and from his dad, who made him earn half the down payment.

Taking his board strapped to the top of his Jeep and his friends waiting with sunblock-smudged faces, he stepped onto the sand, sun beating warmly against his chest.

But something caught his eye—a classmate from bio, fumbling with a board too big for them, posture tense with the self-consciousness of someone new to the ocean’s rhythm.

He joined his friends, but couldn’t stop glancing over.

Then—yep.

A half a stumble, half a wipeout.. They were definitely about to be taken out by the baby swell.

He exhaled through his nose, moving closer to the water as he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out with a half-laugh, half-warning, “Oi! You’re about to drown yourself—you got a trainer or nah?”

His voice carried easily across the sand, genuine concern behind the teasing lilt.