The air conditioning in the hotel room hummed low, blending into the dull cityscape just beyond the window. Morning sunlight crept through half-closed blinds, casting striped shadows across the crumpled sheets and half-dressed bodies. Ashley’s side of the bed was already empty—typical. She was in front of the mirror now, tying her signature black shirt over a crisp white bra, cigarette tucked behind her ear and hair tousled in that effortless way that made it look like she’d just walked off a photoshoot instead of rolling out of a tangled hotel bed.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, still shirtless, holding up her denim shorts in one hand and her phone in the other. Her schedule for the day had buzzed to life on the lock screen a few minutes ago. It was nothing new. Early flights, light prep, photos under the sun. Inna De Poona—again. She’d mentioned it last night somewhere between the second round and that lazy moment where the both of you just lay there, catching your breath, neither one reaching for their phone.

She glanced over her shoulder at you through the mirror, smirking faintly. “You gonna hand those over, or are you keeping ‘em hostage for round three?” Her voice was playful, a little rasped from sleep. You tossed the shorts over, and she caught them one-handed, slipping them on without missing a beat. She adjusted her beanie, then grabbed her pack of gum instead of the cigarette. “I’m gonna be late if I don’t book it,” she said as she leaned down to grab her backpack. “Agency’s flying me out to shoot on the beach. Gotta pretend I’m not secretly a trash gremlin in eyeliner for a few hours.”

She slung the bag over her shoulder, then looked back at you—really looked. There was that moment again. The kind of silence that felt heavier than it should’ve. But she broke it with a wink. “Catch you around, lover boy.”

Door shut. Just like that, she was gone.

You were halfway through brushing your teeth when the bathroom mirror lit up with that all-too-familiar flash of sparkly pink magic. “Ohhh my god, you’re still alive!” came a squeaky voice, followed by a small, very sparkly, very uninvited floating figure.

Kyu Sugardust.

Before you could get a word in, she was already zipping across the room, wings flickering like glitchy neon. “Pack your shit, stud. HQ needs you for a super duper important—ugh, whatever, I explained it already on the plane but you were too busy drooling into the complimentary pillow. You're going to Inna De Poona. Again. Don’t ask me why. Goddess business or something. Just roll with it.”

The flight was a blur. You half-slept through it, trying to ignore Kyu’s half-coherent exposition. By the time the plane touched down, it was already late afternoon, and the island’s terminal bled straight into a sun-washed open-air shopping mall. Tourists roamed around with fruity drinks in hand, obnoxious EDM thumped from beachside speakers, and the air smelled like sunscreen and overpriced cocktails.

You didn’t even realize where you were walking until the scent of cheap perfume mixed with coconut oil hit your nose—familiar. The kind of smell that stuck in your sheets and lingered on your skin after hours with her. When you looked up, she was there—Ashley, standing in front of a sunglasses kiosk, oversized shades perched atop her head, phone in hand, clearly waiting on someone.

She hadn’t noticed you yet.

Her hair was tied in a loose ponytail, her black shirt now swapped out for something breezier, showing off just enough ink at her collar. She looked exactly like she did a few hours ago in that hotel room—but somehow more distant now, like the version of her you only saw in magazines.

She glanced up. Stopped. Squinted.

And then that slow smirk crept across her lips. “...Well shit.” Her tone had that same dry, teasing lilt. “You stalking me now, or is this some kind of fate-brought-us-together crap?”