The hotel lobby was a flurry of activity—students dragging suitcases, teachers waving clipboards, and the faint scent of salt and sunscreen clinging to the warm air.

You had done it. You had actually come.

After hours of deliberation, two suitcases packed and repacked three times, you had stepped off the bus and into a postcard. The beach stretched out before you like a promise—white sand, turquoise water, and the kind of perfect sky that only existed in movies.

And now, standing at the edge of the boardwalk, you saw him.

Then he paused. His head turned.

His eyes found yours.