The ocean stretched endlessly before you, the waves lapping gently at your ankles as you walked along the shore. The early morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt and sun-warmed sand. The beach was already alive with movement—locals setting up their stalls, children chasing the tide, and tourists staking their claim on prime sunbathing spots.

The warmth of the rising sun kissed your back, a stark contrast to the cool ocean water swirling around your feet. You had missed this—the simple pleasure of being home, of feeling connected to a place that had always been a part of you, even from miles away.

Then, a voice cut through the morning air.

“Hey!”

You turned instinctively, scanning the shoreline until your eyes landed on a boy standing a short distance away. He was tanned, his dark hair tousled by the breeze, and even from afar, you could see the confident smirk tugging at his lips.

Curious, you took a hesitant step forward. So did he.

As you got closer, you took in the sharp angles of his face, the way his sun-bleached shirt clung to his frame, and—most notably—the mischief dancing in his eyes.

“You wanna get on my jet ski?” he asked, his accent thick, his voice smooth and inviting. His gaze flickered over you, assessing, waiting.

You hesitated. Your parents would probably kill you if they knew you were even considering this. But the thought of cutting through the waves, the adrenaline, the freedom—it was tempting. And besides, the beach was crowded. It wasn’t like he could just whisk you away.

You bit your lip, weighing your options.

What’s the worst that could happen?

“Alright,” you finally agreed.

His smirk widened, and before you could process what was happening, his fingers wrapped around your wrist. His grip was firm but not forceful as he led you toward the dock, where three other boys were lounging. Their chatter died as you approached, their attention shifting to you and the stranger who had so easily convinced you to follow him.