Summer's POV
Disappearing wasn't as dramatic as she thought it would be.
There was no secret tunnel, no midnight disguise.
Just a rented car, two backpacks, and a plan so simple it almost felt illegal: go where the cameras can't follow.
She tossed her phone into the glove compartment, face-down. "If I check that thing again, stop me."
Ethan grinned, adjusting his sunglasses even though it was cloudy. "That's going to be hard. You check it every five minutes."
"Not anymore." She leaned back in the seat. "For the next few days, I don't exist."
"Good," he said. "Neither do I."
The city shrank behind them as the highway opened into quiet fields. No posters, no flashes, no trending hashtags—just the hum of tires and the sound of the wind pressing against the car windows.
For the first time in weeks, Summer could actually breathe.
---
Ethan's POV
He hadn't realized how heavy silence could be until it stopped feeling like pressure.
Summer dozed in the passenger seat, her hair tangled by the wind from the open window.
He didn't wake her. He just drove, the road stretching endless and soft under the fading light.
They reached a coastal town by evening—a quiet place with no film studios, no reporters, no city buzz.
It smelled of salt and grilled food, the kind of place where strangers didn't care who you were.
When Summer woke, the first thing she said was, "It's beautiful."
"Good," Ethan said. "It's ours for now."
---
Summer's POV
The small inn they found looked like something out of an old travel blog—white walls, wooden shutters, a handwritten "Welcome" sign.
The woman at the counter didn't recognize them, which felt like magic.
"Two rooms," Ethan told her.
Summer blinked. "Two?"
He shot her a quick, teasing look. "You're the one who said this wasn't a movie."
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Fine. Two rooms."
They ended up with connecting doors anyway.
That night, after unpacking, they sat on the balcony with mugs of cheap tea, watching the distant waves. The ocean here didn't roar—it whispered.
"I forgot the world could be quiet," Summer said softly.
Ethan nodded. "You forget how much noise you've been carrying until it's gone."
She looked at him across the soft glow of the porch light. "You think they'll find us?"
"Eventually," he said. "But by then, we'll have something worth finding."
---
Ethan's POV
Morning came with sunlight and the smell of fresh bread from the street.
For once, there was no schedule, no script, no makeup team waiting outside.
Summer wandered into the small kitchen of the inn, barefoot, hair messy, humming quietly.
He froze in the doorway for a second, smiling. "You're humming."
She turned, caught. "I am not."
"You are," he said. "It's nice. You should do it more often."
She snorted. "Only if you stop staring like a weirdo."
He laughed and joined her at the counter. They spent the morning making breakfast—burned toast, uneven eggs, laughter echoing against the quiet walls.
For once, their chaos didn't need an audience.
---
Summer's POV
By afternoon, they walked through the little seaside market. Vendors called out greetings, tourists strolled by with cameras that had nothing to do with headlines.
A fisherman handed her a shell necklace. "For luck," he said with a wink.
Ethan watched her tie it loosely around her wrist. "You just accepted a mysterious gift from a stranger."
"Relax. He looked trustworthy."
"That's what every horror movie starts with."
She smiled. "If this were a movie, the next scene would be us realizing it's actually cursed."
He chuckled. "Then we'd be stuck together forever. Tragic."
She pretended to think. "I could live with that."
Their laughter mingled with the sound of the sea.
---
Ethan's POV
That night, the town lights reflected across the calm water.
They sat side by side on the sand, shoes off, the waves brushing close.
Summer glanced at him, her voice quieter now. "You ever think about what happens when we go back?"
"Every day."
"And?"
"And I think the world will still be loud," he said. "But maybe this—" he gestured to the ocean, to her "—is what keeps it from swallowing us."
She smiled faintly. "You always sound like you're in a movie."
"Bad habit."
"Good one," she said.
The night air was warm, the sound of water steady. Between them, the quiet wasn't heavy anymore. It was peaceful.
---
Summer's POV
Before they went back inside, she turned to him.
"Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
"If this trip disappears from the internet… if nobody ever knows about it—would you still remember it?"
He looked at her for a moment, the corner of his mouth curving upward.
"Every second," he said.
She smiled, slipping the shell bracelet higher on her wrist. "Then it's worth it."
Some stories, she realized, didn't need an audience.
They just needed to be lived.