Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 58 - LINE WITHOUT A HOOK

“Okay,” Inez said, flinging herself onto the bed and hugging a pillow. “Unpacking is a tomorrow problem. Right now.... we beach.”

The sun was high but soft, that golden hour where everything looked like a vintage photo, slightly faded, slightly too good to be real. We changed into our beach clothes, the kind we picked with little thought but still said something about who we were now. I wore my maroon bikini top under a mesh white shirt, paired with loose beige pants. Inez had her signature splash of color, sunflower yellow wrap skirt and a red bikini top with chunky earrings that she probably wouldn't take off even in the water. Tim had a plain navy rash guard and board shorts, ever simple, ever neat. Corey had pineapples printed all over his trunks and wore a neon green bucket hat, already carrying a speaker blasting mellow music. Drake? Shirtless, chaotic energy, swim trunks with flames and a white bandana. Matt, in contrast, wore black from top to bottom, sleeveless swim top and fitted trunks, every line pressed and clean like it was ironed. And James… white tank top, forest green shorts, and his chain, just one, silver. His hair was slightly messy, and the sunlight caught the warm tones in his skin.

We all ran toward the beach together. For a moment, just seven figures in the sun. Corey shouted something ridiculous. Drake tried to tackle him into the waves. Inez twirled on the shoreline like the tide belonged to her. Tim joined a group starting a beach volleyball match. Matt stayed beside me, hands in his pockets, the water lapping at his ankles.

And James… I saw him watching me again, eyes unreadable, like the sea.

But I didn’t avoid it. Not anymore.

Eventually, the group dispersed. Some returned to the resort stalls for snacks, others went deeper into the water. Matt and I wandered farther down the beach, where the stretch of sand turned quieter. The laughter behind us faded into wind. I pulled my hair into a low bun as we walked, the breeze picking up. We sat on a large piece of driftwood. The kind you’d think was a sculpture if you didn’t know the ocean carved it.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Matt said. His voice was calm, almost too even. “You and James. Where are you… now?”

I didn’t answer right away. I listened to the waves, to the way they whispered and retreated like they knew the truth already.

“I forgive him,” I said at last. “Even if I can’t forget what he did with Olive.”

Matt nodded once. I could feel his mind working, not judging, just… sorting.

I breathed in. “And I still love him,” I admitted. “But sometimes I wonder… is forgiveness the same as love? Or is love what makes forgiveness possible?”

Matt looked out at the horizon. “They’re different,” he said eventually. “But related. Forgiveness… is a decision. A choice not to carry the knife anymore. Love is what makes you pick it up in the first place, even when you know it might hurt.”

I stayed quiet.

He continued, “Betty, you’re not weak for still loving him. You’re not stupid. Love isn’t logical, it’s not supposed to be. But healing is. And if you’re going to let him back into your life, you need to know what you're rebuilding. Not the fantasy. Not what you thought he was. But who he really is. And whether that person… is safe to love.”

His words settled into the sand around us, into the sea air. Heavy. Honest.

“I’m scared,” I whispered. “That if I love him again… I’ll disappear in it.”

Matt turned to me, his expression unusually soft. “Then don’t disappear,” he said. “You don’t have to. Love him if you must. But stay you. You’re not a sequel to him. You’re your own story.”