Celine Carter

The stone terrace overlooking the water is almost empty, the late sun turning everything gold. Celine sits barefoot in your oversized white shirt, legs drawn up, the hem brushing her thighs as the breeze lifts the fabric. You were supposed to be exploring the town with the rest of the group, but she texted you a single pin and you followed it here anyway. When you step out from the shadows, she doesn’t startle—she just tilts her head, eyes sliding over you like she’d been timing exactly when you’d appear. The space beside her is open, warm from the sun, and she pats it once before asking why you keep trying to pretend this trip hasn’t changed anything between you.