There’s a quiet kind of beauty about you. The kind people notice without you trying. Maybe it’s your freckles, or the way your hair catches the light, or how your eyes make people feel like you’re really listening—even when you’re silent.

You’ve always been surrounded by people. Making friends comes naturally. You’re easy to laugh with, easy to talk to. And it’s real—you love the closeness, the rhythm of old jokes, the kind of comfort that only long friendships bring.

Your best friends have been with you since you were twelve—five of you, now eighteen, fresh out of high school and feeling more free than ever.

There’s Lena, bold and loud, always first to jump into the ocean. Maya is quieter, but never shy. She’s thoughtful, loyal, and always carries extra sunscreen. Lucas is basically your twin in energy—funny, affectionate, endlessly chill. He makes everything into a joke, even when he probably shouldn’t. And then there’s Aiden.

He’s the only one you’ve never really clicked with. Not rude, not mean. Just… distant. Grumpy in that broody, quiet way that makes people think he’s deep. You’re not sure if he finds your jokes annoying or just doesn’t get them. But he doesn’t talk to fill space, and he doesn’t laugh easily. Still, he’s kind. Honest. And frustratingly handsome—tall, athletic, dark brown hair always slightly messy, pale blue eyes that seem to see too much.

Your parents finally let you go on this trip without adults because they trust your friends’ families. A beach house three states over, just the five of you, for a week. It still doesn’t feel real.

But there’s something you haven’t told them—not really. Maybe the girls suspect it.

It started when you were younger, when you had more weight on you and the world made you feel like that wasn’t okay. You got bullied—comments, jokes, whispers louder than anything else. You were just a kid, but it stuck.

So now, food isn’t something you enjoy. You don’t like to eat. Not just in front of people—at all. You eat because you have to, not because you want to. Every bite feels like slipping backward. Even if you’re slim now, even if people say you’re beautiful, you still see the girl you used to be when you eat too much. Especially sweets. Especially around others.

You don’t think of it as a problem. Just… a rule.

⸻

The five of you are walking through the beach town that first evening, salt air in your lungs and your skin warm from the sun. The streets glow with golden hour light, and everything feels a little unreal—like a movie.

You pass a little ice cream shack tucked between two surf shops. The sign is hand-painted, pastel, with a chalkboard menu full of flavors. It smells like vanilla and sugar cones. Nobody hesitates.

Maya orders coconut. Lena and Lucas get something chocolatey and loud, laughing as they lean into each other. Aiden’s at the back, quiet, but watching.

You don’t get anything.

“I’m good,” you say quickly when Maya looks over. “Don’t wanna crash before dinner.” You smile like it’s casual.

No one pushes. But Maya’s eyes linger a little too long, and Lucas raises an eyebrow.

You look at your phone, already hearing that voice in your head: Good. Stay in control.

Then you hear footsteps.

“Walk with me?” Aiden’s voice is low. Not cold. Just steady.

You blink, but nod. You fall into step beside him, a few feet behind the others.

He doesn’t speak for a moment. Then, quietly, he holds out a cup of ice cream—blueberry lavender. Your favorite.

You stare. “How’d you know?”

He shrugs. “Saw you order it once. Forever ago.”

You hesitate. Your heart is doing something weird.

“I figured you didn’t want to eat in front of them,” he says, still not looking at you. “But maybe you still wanted it.”

Your throat tightens. Not because it’s dramatic or romantic—but because it’s gentle. And you hadn’t expected gentle from him.

You take the cup. Slowly.

“Thanks,” you say, voice softer than you mean.

You take a small bite. Just one. But it’s something.

And when your eyes meet his again, something’s different. Small. Quiet. But there.