Fiona told them she needed space. A break. A solo escape to breathe and reset. She booked a quiet beach cabin far from the noise, promising herself she wouldn't run away this time—she'd just… rest.
And for the first few days, she did just that. Books, silence, fresh air, and the ocean's hum. It felt like something was waking up inside her. Something soft.
---
[ Early Morning ]
The sun is just rising, painting the sky in soft watercolor tones of orange and lavender. Fiona walks barefoot along the shore, her hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, her eyes fixed on the waves. She breathes in deeply, feeling the salt, the warmth, the peace.
Fiona (inner monologue):
This is what I needed. To be alone with the pieces of me that no one else sees.
To remember who I was before it all… and who I want to be after.
She closes her eyes, tilts her head toward the sun. Just as she exhales peacefully—
SPLASH!
A cold wave of water hits her from the side. She yelps and spins around, shocked—
Fiona:
What the—?!
Damien: (holding an empty water bottle, grinning)
Rise and shine, beach goddess!
Dominic: (laughing, already barefoot)
Consider this a friendship tax.
Lucien: (smirking, holding another bottle)
You didn't think we'd let you heal in peace, did you?
[She's stunned, wet, and laughing before she can stop herself.]
Fiona:
You guys are evil.
Damien:
We prefer fun. Now run—before the next splash lands!
[She bolts down the sand, all three chasing after her. Screams and laughter fill the quiet morning air. They splash in the waves, tackle each other into the shallow surf, and run until they collapse in the sand, breathless and soaked.]
---
[Moments Later – Reflection]
[They lie side by side, the sun now fully rising above them. Fiona wipes water from her face, smiling softly as she watches the sea sparkle.]
Fiona:
You know… I really thought I wanted to be alone.
Lucien:
Sometimes we need to think that, just to find out who we still want around after the silence.
Dominic:
Glad we passed the test.
Damien: (smirking)
We always do.
Fiona:
No… this time, we all passed. Together.
....
..[ Years Later ]
An old photo album rests on a sunlit windowsill. The golden-embossed title reads:
"Wounds We Turned Into Wings."
The sea breeze moves through the airy beach house, soft music playing in the background. Fiona sits at a wooden desk by the window, pen in hand, eyes glowing with quiet peace.
Outside, the laughter of her friends fills the air. Damien is arguing with Dominic over who flipped the burgers wrong, Lucien is teasing them both while grilling, his sleeves rolled up, tongs in one hand, a soda in the other. They're surrounded by plates, mismatched cushions, and sunlight.
Fiona watches them, a small smile on her lips. She returns to her notebook and writes the final lines:
"Healing didn't come all at once.
But it came.
And when it did… it looked a lot like this:
Laughter, grilled food, old jokes, and the kind of peace you don't have to earn—just receive."
She places her pen down, closes the notebook gently, and looks back out the window. The boys wave at her, grinning.
Dominic:
"Hey! If you don't come now, Damien's gonna burn the bread again!"
Damien:
"It's called toasting, you traitor!"
Fiona laughs, stands, and begins tidying the table—folding a cloth napkin, grabbing a bowl of olives, balancing a plate of watermelon slices. She walks out barefoot onto the warm deck.
They all sit together in the sun, their plates full, their hearts light. And as they eat, they talk, tease, and laugh—the kind of laughter that comes only after storms have passed.