The boat ride wasn't supposed to feel this long. The island sat ahead like a whispered secret, hidden from the world wild, untouched, and so goddamn beautiful it almost made me feel like an intruder. I caught myself inhaling the salty air too deeply, wanting it to burn away the doubts I'd carried here. I was supposed to be writing. I was supposed to be inspired. Instead, all I could think about was how little I knew of what I wanted, even here, on the edge of the world. "Almost there," Milo said, glancing at me over the boat's edge. His eyes gleamed with the kind of excitement only a man about to be far away from everything could have. "You sure you're gonna be okay out here?" I shrugged, the weight of my own hesitation pressing down. "Yeah," I muttered, staring at the shore, where the jungle met the beach like a silent invitation. "It's fine. I need this. Just… quiet." Milo was my best friend. He was the one person who'd always been there, even when I was too wrapped up in myself to see him. And sure, he was cute too cute sometimes but that wasn't the point. He was the one person who didn't expect me to be perfect. He knew I wasn't. But I couldn't shake the feeling that coming to this island would force me to face something I wasn't ready for. Then there was Lena, sitting across from us, her gaze distant as she checked her phone for the thousandth time. She was the reason I'd agreed to this whole thing she'd practically dragged me onto this trip. "Come on, Celine," she had said. "You need to unplug, take a break, and just write for yourself."
I wasn't sure if she meant "write for myself" or if she meant "write for everyone else." Lena was always the one who knew exactly how to wrap people around her finger, with that flawless smile and "nothing's a problem" aura she wore like a second skin. I dragged my duffel bag off the boat, the heat of the sun making my skin burn, but it wasn't the warmth that had me on edge. It was the island. The way it called to me, like it had known I was coming. I glanced at the thick trees, their leaves moving in the wind, like they were whispering to each other. "This place is so…" I started, but the words didn't quite make it out. "Perfect for a book," Milo finished for me, his eyes teasing but tired, like he had heard that line a thousand times. "Yeah," I muttered. "Perfect for everything." I didn't know why I said it. Maybe because it felt true. Maybe because something about this place felt realer than the life I had left behind. We unloaded our things, the beach stretching in both directions wide, empty, as if the island was waiting for something. Or someone. And then there was that the tiny, tucked-away shack we'd be staying in. Old, creaky, and almost hidden by the overgrown vines. But when I saw the notebook on the shelf, tucked in a corner with dust coating its cover, something in me stilled. Milo and Lena hadn't noticed. But I had. It was the kind of thing you shouldn't touch, but I couldn't stop myself. There was something in the air, some kind of magnetic pull that said, "Open me." But I didn't. Not yet. I glanced back at them, Milo cracking open a bottle of water and Lena already sprawled on the porch chair with her headphones in. Just me and the island. Just like I wanted. Or so I thought.
The first thing I noticed was how time stilled the moment we stepped into the old wooden cottage. Rain had started drumming on the roof like nature's heartbeat, frantic and erratic. Thunder echoed like it was tearing through the sky itself. But inside… there was something dreamlike. Lena lit the fireplace with a flick of her lighter. Her long auburn hair shimmered like copper threads in the glow, her green eyes bright, curious, like they could see through my skin into my secrets. She moved with the elegance of a dancer barefoot, wrapped in a cashmere shawl that made her look like something out of a forest myth. And then there was Milo. god. Milo. He shrugged off his soaked jacket, muscles rippling under his white t-shirt plastered to his chest by the rain like it had worshipped him. He looked like a sculpture brought to life: hair dark and damp, eyes the color of a storm, jaw cut like marble. His voice? Deep velvet. The kind that could make you forget your name. "I told you we should've waited before hiking into the woods," he said with a crooked grin, water dripping from his curls. "You just wanted an excuse to play hero," I teased, forcing a laugh to mask the ache crawling up my throat.
Because standing there with him my best friend, my not-so-secret muse in a stormy cottage lit by firelight, felt like the start of something I wasn't ready to name. "I brought dry clothes," Lena announced cheerfully. "There's only two sets, so… someone's sharing." "Oh wow, what a tragic inconvenience," I muttered under my breath, eyes flicking to Milo's bare arms as he stripped off his shirt without hesitation. He laughed. "Don't sound so broken up about it." I rolled my eyes and turned to explore the cottage anything to distract myself. The place had this eerie kind of charm. Dusty bookshelves lined the walls, packed with journals and tomes in languages I didn't recognize. A huge mirror leaned against one wall, covered in cobwebs. And then I saw it the notebook. Black leather. Golden edges. Resting on a writing desk that looked older than time itself. I ran my fingers over the cover, a chill running down my spine like it recognized me. "What's that?" Milo's voice was close behind me. Too close. "A notebook," I whispered. "It feels… weird. Like it's humming." "Maybe it's cursed," he joked, and I wanted to laugh, but the notebook felt anything but funny. Outside, thunder cracked like a warning. Inside, something ancient had just awakened.