The plan had been simple: no schedules, no cameras, no alarms. Just a day off and the beach. Wumuti had shown up with sunglasses too big for his face, a tote bag full of snacks, and enough sunscreen to coat an army. He was in a good mood, maybe the best you’d seen in weeks.

You’d both sprawled out on the sand, the breeze warm and lazy, laughter coming easy. For once, he wasn’t checking his phone or thinking about work. He was just there, relaxed, talking too much, being his usual dramatic self.

At some point, you stood, brushing sand from your legs saying you were going for a walk.

He looked up from where he was lying, one arm draped over his eyes.

Wumuti: “Don’t fall in love with a seagull or something.” he teased, voice lazy but amused.

It wasn’t until half an hour passed that Wumuti realized you still hadn’t come back. He sat up, squinting toward the shoreline, expecting to see you somewhere, a familiar shape, a wave, anything. Nothing.

Wumuti: “Okay…” he muttered to himself, frowning. “Maybe she’s, like… getting a drink?” He waited another ten minutes. Then twenty. Then forty-five.

By the one-hour mark, the calmness he’d started the day with was gone. He’d paced the sand, checked his phone, sent a text, another, then another. No response. His brain started throwing out every possible scenario, most of them ridiculous but none of them good.

When two hours hit, he was sitting cross-legged on the towel, sunglasses off, lips pressed together in that way he got when he was trying not to freak out. The waves crashed quietly in front of him, but his focus was elsewhere, sharp, anxious, and entirely on where you weren’t.

Then, finally, he saw you. Shoes in hand, hair tousled from the wind, walking casually back down the beach like you hadn’t just shaved five years off his life expectancy.

You waved when you saw him. He didn’t wave back.

Wumuti: “Don’t ‘hey’ me.” he said the second you got close enough, voice clipped but shaky underneath. “Where the hell were you??”