Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 58 - LINE WITHOUT A HOOK

I blinked against the sting in my eyes. The ocean wind wasn’t kind.

Matt smiled, just barely. “And if he forgets that again… I’ll remind him. With a punch to the face.”

I laughed, a broken little sound. But it felt like breathing again. We sat in silence for a while after that. The sun dipped lower, casting everything in bronze. The ocean didn’t answer our questions. But maybe it didn’t have to.

The sun fell and our batchmates started to slowly fill the dinner set up by the beach. Table by table, laughters flew with the breeze. The sea at night always smelled heavier. Salty and thick like breath caught between sobs. The air was damp and warm, laced with the perfume of grilled fish, burnt sugar from the banana cue, and something unnameable, maybe nostalgia, maybe the ending of something too big to name.

We sat at a long wooden table lined with mismatched plates and laughter. Someone spilled their juice. Someone else teased Drake for eating five sticks of isaw in under a minute. Inez and Tim were locked in their usual rhythm, bickering, bantering, brushing each other’s arms on purpose.

I looked down at my plate, half-full, the edge of my fork sticky with mango float cream. The lights strung above us blinked with the uneven rhythm of aging fairy lights, casting a soft golden haze on everything. If I squinted, I could almost pretend we were part of a dream.

“I swear, the only thing that got me through Trig was Inez,” Tim declared dramatically, raising his spoon like a sword. “She’s basically my academic wife.”

“More like your accountant,” Inez muttered. “You owe me thirty-two hours of tutoring and emotional labor.”

Laughter erupted around the table. James laughed too, and I hated how familiar that sound was. The way it warmed the air just a bit. Like a heater you didn't know you'd been standing near until you stepped away from it. He sat across from me, just a little farther than comfortable, just a little closer than safe. His white shirt was slightly wrinkled, the collar undone. His fingers toyed with the condensation on his glass. He looked like someone trying to look relaxed, and failing. I reached for the iced tea at the same time he did.

Our fingers brushed. Just skin. Just a second.

And yet, my heart responded like it was being called by name.

He pulled his hand back quickly. “Sorry,” he said, voice soft, almost swallowed by the wind.

“It’s okay,” I replied, though my throat felt tight.

He didn’t look at me again. Or maybe I didn’t let myself look.

The wind picked up slightly, making the lights sway above us. A child somewhere near the shoreline let out a squeal of delight, then the familiar sound of slippers flapping against wet sand. The world kept going even when hearts paused.

Then, like clockwork,Mr. Oxford stepped up to the front of the deck, holding a plastic wine glass with what looked suspiciously like iced tea. He tapped the microphone twice, then cleared his throat with all the gravitas of a man about to give a TED Talk, even if he was wearing flip-flops.

“Good evening, graduates,” he began.

Groans echoed in playful protest.

“Yes, yes. I’m here to ruin your dinner with wisdom,” he said with a grin. “But don’t worry. I promised to keep it brief. Unlike my quizzes.”

Polite laughter. I watched him with a strange fondness. I used to think he was annoying. Now I realized he just cared in ways most people forgot to show. Maybe wisdom really is knowing when to embarrass yourself for the sake of a smile.