I FOUND A FRIEND IN CLARK LEE.

And last night, he was right: the bridge did come back, but he warned me to be quick when crossing it. Similar to the first time, it only appeared for a few minutes before disintegrating into particles of pastel mist, the evidence of its existence disappearing from Eventyde.

There's a lot I learned about Clark during those five hours we were stuck in the Other World (that's what we had decided to call it, because... what else were we supposed to call it?). He's just completed his second year of veterinary school in California, and when he found the injured fox behind a bush of thorns, he felt obligated to help. Stubborn and scared at first, the fox eventually warmed up when he realized Clark meant no harm.

"Saving the lives of animals," I said. "As expected from someone who has the same name as Superman."

He laughed, though the smile didn't completely reach his honey eyes. There was a flicker of something — bruised despondence perhaps — that had vanished just as quickly as I had noticed it.

Maybe we're more similar than I thought.

Clark has one older brother and two pet dogs. He insists that tomatoes are the devil's creation and prefers tea over coffee (this was followed by an intense debate where we ended up agreeing to disagree). And, as it turns out, he's also on Eventyde Island on vacation with his friends, which led us to the conclusion that the bridge is specific to the resort. But there's still a lingering question regarding its visibility towards other visitors that neither of us can pinpoint.

I've made it my mission to discover the answer before leaving here.

The more I got to know Clark, the more I felt comfortable around him. There's something about the boy that made it easy for me to open up as if he had this sincere aura radiating from his tan skin and gentle smile. Talking to him was interesting, and though I'll eventually have to leave Eventyde Island, a part of me already knows that my first impression of him will stay with me for weeks on end.

╰ ☆ ╮

Staying at an island resort and studying for my finals is an atrocious combination.

It's shocking that I had the audacity to think otherwise because even though I came here to find an escape, I still can't find it in me to rearrange my priorities. The obligation to graduate still hovers over my head like an ominous storm cloud. This fucking sucks.

I've spent one hour trying to memorize oxidation reactions when my stomach releases an obnoxiously loud grumble, and I take it as a sign to finally go explore the island and ditch the poor attempt at studying.

After tying my dark brown hair into a braid and rolling up the cuffs of my pants, I grab my bag and head down towards the dessert bar in the resort lobby area. Maybe I'll try the chocolate-covered strawberries or the mango ice cream. Maybe I'll sit near the shore and bask in the golden summer glory.

Maybe I'll even bump into Clark.

...maybe I should wear some lip gloss.

When the implication of the thought hits me, disgust buries itself into my bones.

Absolutely not. No time for boys. I have to go back home soon.

It's sunny outside again, the morning sky filled with patches of cotton clouds. The beach isn't too crowded, a few people dispersed here and there across the soft beige sand. Is studying on the beach a productive method for retaining information? Probably not. But I'll try it tomorrow anyway.

Walking here alone and watching people around the area throws me into a reminiscent trance from my time at college. Throughout those years, my focus was solely based on attending class and getting out. I wasn't interested in joining any clubs because I didn't want to spend time at a university that my parents had picked for me more than I had to. Attend class, talk to a friend, study, go home, eat, and repeat — that was my routine every day. Relationships were out of the picture as well because if we're being honest, the male population at my university was... a different species.

I just wasn't interested in being a social butterfly. I never was. And I didn't mind it at first, because I like being myself. In those moments, it was the only sense of independence I felt away from home. But slowly, like the buildup of an hourglass, it caught up with me, and the lack of social interaction on such a large campus ate away at my mind in its most parasitic form.

But college really is what you make it, and unfortunately, my four years were up by the time I acknowledged this bitter truth. In the end, it doesn't matter because I still haven't made that many friends since I moved to Cleveland, nor am I sure about anything regarding my future since I graduated high school.

Maham Mahdi is a completely different story. Wherever she goes, she just fits in like she belongs, and I can't figure out how the hell she does it. Socializing is second-nature to her, and the spotlight people shine on her never seems to fully fade away. I can't deny it, her ability to switch demeanors based on the environment makes me envious sometimes. But after knowing her for so many years, I've learned that she's able to perfect being a beautiful social butterfly due to the many layers of her character. Each juxtaposes the next: Maham the Prettiest. Maham the Manipulator. Maham the Popular. Maham the Liar. And sometimes I wonder if the tiny, genuine core that I had once known is still there, buried deep beneath the multiple facades — Maham the Insecure, Maham the Compassionate. But was it all just another layer?

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my pants, and, it's a text message from the devil herself:

Maham Mahdi (now)
Are you in class right now?

The words stare back at me as I try to decide whether or not to respond. If I did, I'd be setting myself up for a game of Russian roulette, waiting on whether or not she'll actually reply. She might though because there's only one reason why she messages me anymore anyway.

what do you want?
what do y|
Delete.

do you need somet|
Delete.

i'm about to be in a few
Send.

oh lol i was gonna
ask if i could stop
by your dorm and borrow
your black sneakers

mine are killing me lol

With a scowl, I shove my phone back into my back pocket. The last time I let her borrow something from me, she lost a pair of my leggings. Should I have expected something like that to happen? Yes. Did I still let her string me along like the Complete Loser I am? Also yes. Why? Couldn't tell you even if I tried.

I don't know why I find it so fucking hard to let go. It's just one person.

"You know she treats you like shit, right?" A friend had once told me when she noticed our interactions. She had recently moved to Cleveland at the time and was sharp to notice the different dynamics in our friend group. "I hope you know that, Karina. Everyone talks about it — even Amena, Miriam, and Ali. I heard you two grew up together, but you deserve better friends than her."

At the time, I didn't know she treated me like shit, and I was clueless towards her intentions because all I saw in Maham Mahdi was the same pretty angel I grew up with. Hearing the reality of it all felt intrusive. People in Cleveland didn't know Maham like I did. But my friend's words served as a spontaneous wake-up call that implanted a black hole in my chest just to suck out all of the air in my lungs and love in my heart.

In that moment, when the realization finally dawned on me, I felt like the biggest idiot in the world.

There was a nauseating churn in the pit of my stomach when I replied, "Yeah, I know."

You'd think that discovering a fantastical forest in the middle of an island would lead to an instantaneous epiphany about my life, but you'd be wrong (join the club!). How long is my journey supposed to last before I find an answer on how to do better? On how to be better? When do I find the answer on how to defy values that have been wired into my brain as a kid? When do I finally grow a goddamn backbone and learn to let go?

"Karina!"

A voice from behind snaps me out of my tragic thoughts, footsteps padding louder against the boardwalk as they approach. It's those brown eyes again, the ones filled with whimsical specks of lemon honey. "I've been looking for you! I was starting to think you were messing with me when you said you were staying here."

Clark's words fly straight over my head because his raven hair is slicked back, droplets of water dripping onto a drenched t-shirt. He smells like fresh sea salt and earthy driftwood, a satisfying scent that is going to live in my head rent-free for the rest of my life.

"Are you okay?" he asks. "I saw you out here from the beach; you looked kind of mad."

"What?" When I force myself to blink away from his lean build, the corners of his lips lift into a knowing smirk — caught. "Oh, it's nothing! I'm fine."

One of his friends — a blonde with wavy hair and a beach towel in his hand — yells from the sand dunes, "Clark! You comin'?"

Clark glances back at the two waiting boys before turning back to me. "Do you wanna come hang with us? My friends are nice, I promise."

As tempting the offer is, I shake my head, wanting to spend the rest of today gathering my thoughts. "No, it's okay. Thanks for asking though; you guys have fun."

"Uh, wait!" There's a sheepish look on his face when he stops me. "See you tonight? At, you know, the same spot as yesterday. Not to make it sound like... a date or anything. I just mean — I don't know. It was nice. Being in a place like that with someone, I mean."

Does he even need to ask? I thought after discovering a forest with red trees, yellow grass, and a fox with blue ears, the answer would be obvious.

"Sure. I'll bring snacks this time." I return the smile and watch as he makes his way back towards his friends.

The blonde boy teases him, nudging his shoulder against Clark's. "Is she where you run off to every night?"

"Fuck off."