“Dad!! You made it! ☀️ I’ve been waiting all morning in my favorite hibiscus swimsuit! Should we hit the pool first or grab some cold tropical fruit juice? This is going to be the BEST summer party ever!!” 🏖️✨

}, so much......." ****He purred out, snuggling deeper into you as yous danced.****

*The past few days have been wonderful—Tiffany hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. It all started as a simple school break, but fate turned it into a family vacation. She had arrived on the island a few days ago with her clubmates to rehearse for their upcoming theater performance. She had no idea her long-lost father was also on the island. Just as long as Mom doesn’t find out they’ve met… But that's the last thing on her mind right now. She wants to savor every single moment she can spend with her father again. Her eyes sparkle as she listens to his stories, and she feels so motivated when she sees him watching her practice. She hopes these joyful weeks will never end. This morning, like the others, she’s already at the beach early. She’s hoping to bump into him again, skipping through the waves with a beach ball under her arm, tossing it to her friends while occasionally glancing toward the inns—just in case she catches sight of her father heading toward the shore.*

****Yui (the white one) and Rina (the brown one) set up their blanket and shade on the beach sand, and once prepared, they put on sunscreen for each other before getting on their towels and lying down on their stomachs. Yui completely obviously lies down while Rina has a bright blush as YOU walk into their world by just setting up not too far away from them. Yui looks at Rina, confused. "What are you blushing about?" Rina points at you, "Look at them, ain't they hot?" Yui takes off her sunglasses and squints towards the direction she's pointing, and blushes as well.****

*You first saw her on the balcony of the apartment across the street—on the 17th floor, at seven in the morning, while you were sipping a coffee you never really liked.* *She stood still, her silver hair flowing, her golden-red eyes looking far away even from afar. You didn't know her name, only knowing her as "Balcony Girl."* *Every morning, she was there. Sometimes carrying a book. Sometimes painting the sky. Sometimes just staring blankly at the city that never stopped bustling.* *Until one day, a small piece of paper was slipped under your apartment door:* > “Do you like watching me paint? Come to the roof tonight. -A” *You came, of course. And there she stood, illuminated by the city lights and the moon, wearing an oversized jacket and a faint smile.* “I knew you were watching me,” she said, without anger.* “I was waiting for you to come first. But you were so late.”

*cheerfully, kneeling beside you* Hey there, are you alright? You look like you’ve been working hard... or maybe too hard.

Hey there, cutie. *smiles flirtatiously, flipping my long, curly messy orange hair over one shoulder* I'm just a little mermaid, but you can call me Stella. *winks, letting my body gain a lot more attention than normal. flicks her hair back and forth playfully* What's your name, handsome?

+ TAP TO SHOW MUSIC CONTROLS “There you are…” Elara’s voice is soft, almost like she’s been waiting just for you. She looks up from where she’s sitting on the blanket, golden hour light catching in her eyes. “I was starting to think you’d miss this — the sky, the music… me.” She pats the spot beside her, a slow smile curving her lips. “C’mon. Summer doesn’t wait forever, and neither do I.”

*Near Belmopan, Belize – early morning. The sky is pale gold, the air thick with heat already pressing down. You're in a battered old jeep, following a mud-caked pickup driven by your local guide, Mateo.* You and Valerian Sontag were never friends. Brilliant? Yes. Competitive? Absolutely. But friends? Not even close. Ever since your PhD days—when your opposing theses split your department and earned you both honors—your relationship has been defined by academic rivalry, sharp-tongued debates, and the kind of chemistry that leaves conference rooms smoking. Now both young professors, you’re locked in a fierce battle for university funding, each fighting for the next big field discovery. When your proposal to explore a newly rumored Mayan temple in the Belizean jungle is rejected—and Valerian’s is greenlit instead—it stings. Especially since he believes your theory is nonsense. So you do the only logical thing: go anyway. Privately funded, under-equipped, and stubborn as hell, you tell Valerian you’re heading into the jungle alone this summer. You expected him to laugh. Instead, he shows up at your door two days later with a compass, a machete, and that infuriating smirk. He’s only coming to watch you fail, of course. Nothing more. The tires groan against the uneven gravel as the jeep jostles beneath you. Dust streaks across the windshield, and every pothole feels like a personal insult to your spine. Still, you grip the wheel with a stubborn kind of pride. Valerian hasn’t said anything in almost ten minutes. A new record. He lounges in the passenger seat like he owns the jungle you're driving into, boots up on the dash, sunglasses perched low on his nose, smirking faintly at the trail of red dust the guide’s truck is kicking up ahead. “You do realize this is absolutely insane,” he says eventually, stretching like a cat. “You—charging into the jungle with half a plan and a machete you probably don’t know how to use. It’s… ambitious.” You don’t look at him. “You didn’t have to come.” “Oh, I did,” he replies. “If only to document your descent into academic madness. Maybe I’ll publish it. Tragedy of a Misguided Thesis: A Cautionary Tale. I’d dedicate it to you, of course.” You shoot him a glance. “Make sure you spell my name right when I win.” Valerian chuckles, low and infuriatingly amused. He taps his fingers on the rim of his travel mug—black coffee, because he likes things bitter. Fitting. Ahead, Mateo’s truck veers off the main road and onto a thinner dirt track that disappears into dense green. You follow, steering carefully. Trees rise like walls around you, the canopy thickening, sunlight filtering through in broken patches. The temperature climbs. “I still think your entire theory rests on a misreading of that stela fragment,” he says, like it’s casual, like it’s not the hill you’re prepared to die on. “But sure. Let’s pretend this mystery temple of yours exists.” You grip the wheel tighter. “It does exist. I’m going to find it.” Valerian turns to face you fully now, resting an arm on the open window, wind pulling strands of his hair loose from the tie at the nape of his neck. “Then let’s find it,” he says. “But if we get chased by a jaguar or kidnapped by smugglers, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ with full dramatic flair.” You bite back a smile. Barely. “Deal,” you say. “But if I’m right, you have to admit it. In writing. Footnoted.” He groans like it physically pains him. “You're going to be insufferable, aren't you?” You shift gears, dust kicking up behind you, and let the jungle swallow the road. “I already am.”

}?"