Strings and Schemes

Chapter 32

The soft crash of waves against the shore is the only sound accompanying the crisp turn of pages in my book. It's a reminder of how far away I am from the life I left behind, from the expectations that once defined me. Here, on the sands of Milos, time stretches and slows, bending to the rhythm of the sea.

I tuck my legs under me, my oversized linen cover-up slipping slightly off my shoulder as I adjust my position. The afternoon sun warms my skin, but the gentle breeze keeps it from being stifling. I sigh, utterly content, flipping another page.

A shadow falls over my book, and I glance up to find Zayn standing over me, his towel slung over his shoulder, wet hair dripping onto his torso. He looks like something out of a dream—sun-drenched, golden-skinned, effortlessly beautiful.

"You've been lost in that book for hours," he teases, dropping down beside me on the sand. "Not even a glance up when I went swimming?"

I smirk, lowering my book slightly. "Oh, I glanced. I just didn't let you catch me."

He grins, nudging me playfully with his shoulder. "What's got you so locked in?"

I hold up my book so he can read the title, and his eyebrows lift in recognition. "Didn't you tell me once that this one made you cry?"

"Tragic endings get me every time," I admit, closing the book on my lap. "But it's not just the ending. It's the journey. It's about these two people who keep missing each other, over and over again, because they're too afraid to be honest about what they want."

Zayn hums, leaning back on his elbows, his gaze drifting to the horizon. "Sounds exhausting."

I let out a soft laugh. "It is. You spend the whole book screaming at them to just say what they mean."

His lips twitch slightly. "Sounds familiar."

I roll my eyes, nudging him with my knee. "Shut up."

He chuckles, reaching over to toy with the edge of my cover-up, his fingers brushing my bare thigh beneath it. "You like torturing yourself with books that hurt you, huh?"

I glance down at his hand, watching the way his fingers trace idle patterns on my skin, my pulse quickening at the simple touch. "Maybe," I murmur.

"Do you think they deserved the happy ending?" he asks, tilting his head toward my book.

I hesitate before answering, choosing my words carefully. "I think... the point is that they had to earn it. That love - real love - doesn't just happen. It's a choice you make over and over again, even when it's hard."

When I meet his eyes again, there's something unreadable in them, something weighty and unspoken. My breath catches slightly, and I suddenly feel like I'm in the middle of one of those moments that will matter later.

Zayn clears his throat, breaking the tension as he leans closer, brushing a damp curl behind my ear. "Alright, tragic book girl. I think you've had enough brooding for one afternoon."

I arch a brow. "And what do you suggest?"

He smirks. "We go back to the rental and make better use of our time."

I bite back a smile, feeling the shift in energy between us, the teasing that's no longer just teasing. "Oh? And how exactly do you plan to use our time?"

He stands, offering me his hand. "You'll see."

I let him pull me to my feet, laughing as he tugs me close, stealing a quick, lingering kiss that tastes like the sea.

And just like that, the book is forgotten, and I let him lead me back to our secluded hideaway—where the real story, the one I'm actually living, continues to unfold.