ONE / LOVE LANGUAGE.

❛ ruin my day, sayin' shit to
hurt me, i can't compete ❜

𓇼

𝕿he air was heavy with the kind of humidity that clung to your skin, thick with the salt and sand of the Outer Banks. Isla hadn't stepped foot in this place in over a year, yet the smell of the sea hit her like a memory refusing to fade. The roads felt narrower than she remembered, the trees along the highway somehow taller, older, as if they'd been growing in her absence just to prove a point. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her fingers trembling slightly as she navigated the familiar turns that led her closer and closer to the heart of the town she had fled.

The houses she passed were postcard-perfect, painted in soft pastels of blues and yellows, but the sight of them made her stomach twist. She had driven this road a thousand times before-on her bike as a kid, with friends crammed into beat-up cars as a teenager-but now, each turn felt foreign. Alien. As if the town had moved on without her, growing roots she couldn't see. Yet, no matter how much had changed, Isla couldn't shake the feeling that she hadn't truly left. Not completely. Pieces of her still lingered in the places she had once called her own, fragments of laughter and anger woven into the very fabric of the island. It was why she had stayed away for so long.

The beach came into view before she realized where her feet had carried her. Her heart clenched. She hadn't intended to come here-she had promised herself she wouldn't-but it was as if the sand and waves had a pull stronger than her resolve. The dock stood in the distance, weathered and worn but still standing, much like everything else in this place.

The golden haze of the setting sun painted the water in streaks of amber and bronze, and the ocean stretched out endlessly, a vast expanse of silver-blue that sparkled like a thousand tiny diamonds. Waves lapped lazily at the shore, the sound rhythmic and soothing, but it only added to the ache building in her chest. Her sandals kicked up small puffs of sand with each step she took, the grains slipping into her shoes and sticking between her toes. The smell of salt filled her lungs, and for a fleeting second, she thought she could hear the echo of a laugh-a memory teasing her from the edge of consciousness.

The dock stood like a relic of her past, its wooden planks faded and chipped, a stubborn survivor against time and tide. Isla hesitated, her breath catching as she stared at it. So much had happened there-both the good and the bad-and yet it looked the same, as though it were frozen in time. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails pressing into her palms as she debated turning back.

But her feet betrayed her. Slowly, reluctantly, she moved closer, the dock pulling her in like a magnet she couldn't resist. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of her memories growing stronger the nearer she got. Her throat tightened as flashes of the past began to surface, fragments of a life she had tried so hard to leave behind. She could almost see herself sitting on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the side, the sun warming her skin as she laughed without care. She could almost see him-Oliver, leaning back on his elbows beside her, his crooked grin and sharp wit filling the air between them.

Her jaw clenched at the thought of him. Of all the things that had changed, that was the one memory she had tried the hardest to bury. And yet, even now, it clung to her, a stubborn shadow that refused to let her move on.

The waves rose and fell, their rhythm as steady as her heartbeat, and for a moment, Isla let herself be still. The golden light bathed her face, warming her skin, but the chill in her chest refused to fade. She didn't belong here anymore. Not really. But as much as she wanted to leave, to turn her back on this place once and for all, she knew she couldn't. Not yet.

The wind picked up, tugging at the loose strands of her hair as she stared out at the horizon. The sun was dipping lower now, painting the sky in deep shades of orange and pink. It was beautiful, in the way the Outer Banks always were, but it only made her feel more like a stranger. As if the town had moved on, and she was the one still stuck in the past.

She took a shaky breath, her hands slipping into the pockets of her denim shorts as she tried to steady herself. There was so much she had to face-so much she had left undone-but standing here, staring out at the water, she wasn't sure she had the strength to do it. The memories were too heavy, the pain too fresh.

And yet, despite the ache in her chest, Isla couldn't bring herself to walk away.

The voice that cut through the crashing waves had once been her anchor-familiar and steady, a sound she could recognize in any storm. Now, it felt more like a dagger, sharp and unforgiving, sinking into the softest parts of her.

Isla froze, her breath catching as her chest tightened. She knew that voice, had memorized every edge of it long before things fell apart. She let the air sit heavy in her lungs before she exhaled and turned to face him, her movements slow and deliberate, bracing herself for what she'd see.

There he was.

Oliver leaned against a piece of driftwood, one foot propped lazily against it, as though he had been waiting for her all this time. His arms were crossed, his stance casual, but there was tension in the set of his shoulders, a rigidity she'd seen before-right before a fight. His face was shadowed by the dimming sun, but the sharp planes of his jaw and the glint in his eyes were unmistakable. He looked both exactly the same and entirely different, as if the boy she'd left behind had hardened into someone she didn't know.

"Didn't think you'd have the guts to show your face again."

His words hit her like a slap, and for a moment, the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Isla blinked, her stomach twisting into a knot she couldn't untangle. She wanted to ignore him, to pretend his presence didn't make her heart pound in that infuriating way it always had. But she knew Oliver-he wouldn't let her leave without a word. And, if she was honest with herself, neither would she.

She let out a short laugh, sharp enough to match his tone. "I didn't think you'd still care." The words escaped her lips before she could stop them, a mix of defiance and hesitation. Her voice wavered slightly at the end, betraying the calm she was trying to project.

Oliver raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Care? You give yourself too much credit." His laugh was cold, bitter, a far cry from the warm chuckle she once knew.

Her nails dug into her palms, a feeble attempt to ground herself as memories rushed in uninvited. The two of them standing by this very beach, barefoot and carefree, trading jokes and secrets that felt too big for their age. The sound of his laughter, genuine and full, blending with the crashing waves. How had they gone from that to... this?

"Funny," Isla shot back, her tone sharper now. "I don't remember asking for your approval."

Oliver pushed off the driftwood, closing some of the space between them. He wasn't towering over her-she wouldn't let him-but he was close enough for her to catch the faint scent of saltwater on his clothes, the same scent that used to cling to his skin after hours of surfing.

"You didn't have to," he said, his voice low and steady. "You made it pretty clear what you thought of me when you left."

The words struck like a wave crashing against her, sudden and unrelenting. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. What could she say? That she'd been scared? That the fight they had before she left had replayed in her mind every night since? That coming back here felt like standing in the rubble of something she'd destroyed with her own hands?

Instead, she crossed her arms, mirroring his stance. "I didn't leave because of you, Oliver."

"Didn't you?" he asked, his gaze unyielding, like he was daring her to tell the truth.

"No," she said, her voice quieter now, the fight draining out of her. She looked away, focusing on the waves lapping at the shore, the horizon where the sun had almost disappeared. "I left because I needed to."

"For what? To find yourself?" The sarcasm in his voice cut deeper than any blade.

She clenched her jaw, swallowing the lump in her throat. "You wouldn't understand."

"You're right," he said, stepping back, his voice cold again. "I don't understand how you could just leave without saying goodbye. Without explaining anything. But I guess that's who you are now."

The waves rolled in rhythmically, crashing softly against the shore as the sky deepened into a rich indigo. She faltered, her heart hammering against her ribcage. She wanted to fire back, to throw his words back in his face, but the intensity of his stare rooted her in place.

"I didn't-" she started, but he interrupted her.

"No, you don't get to play the victim here, Isla. You left." His voice cracked slightly on her name, as if it was the first time he'd spoken it in a year. Maybe it was. "No explanation, no goodbye-just gone. You left me to pick up the pieces like it didn't matter. Like none of it mattered."

Her throat tightened as guilt clawed its way up, unrelenting and suffocating. "That's not fair," she said quietly, but her words lacked conviction.

"Fair?" He laughed again, though there was no humor in it. "You want to talk about fair? What's fair about you showing up now, after all this time, like nothing happened?"

"I didn't plan this," she snapped, her voice trembling with frustration. "I didn't plan any of it, okay?"

"Yeah, well, you sure made it look easy."

The accusation hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The waves continued their steady rhythm behind them, the only sound in the thick silence.

"You don't know what I was dealing with," Isla finally said, her voice quieter now, almost pleading.

"Because you never let me," Oliver shot back. "You shut me out and ran. So don't stand here and act like I'm the bad guy, Isla. You made that choice."

Her breath hitched as his words hit their mark, and for a moment, she couldn't meet his gaze. She looked past him instead, out at the ocean, where the moonlight danced across the water's surface.

"You don't know everything," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the waves.

"Then tell me," he said, taking a step closer. His tone was quieter now, but the edge was still there. "Tell me what I don't know, Isla, because all I see is someone who walked away when it got hard."

She swallowed hard, her chest tightening as a thousand unspoken words clawed their way to the surface. But she couldn't say them-not now, not like this. So instead, she shook her head and took a step back.

"Maybe you're right," she said, her voice hollow. "Maybe I did walk away. But that doesn't mean I'm the only one who screwed up."

Oliver's jaw clenched, and for a moment, she thought he might argue. But he didn't. Instead, he just stared at her, his expression unreadable.

The tension between them was suffocating, a chasm filled with everything they weren't saying. And yet, neither of them moved, caught in the pull of something neither of them could fully explain.

Finally, Oliver broke the silence. "You're still the same," he said, his voice low. "Always running, always looking for an excuse to leave."

Her chest ached at the weight of his words, but she forced herself to stand tall, to hold his gaze. "And you're still the same," she countered. "Always looking for someone else to blame."

The waves crashed again, louder this time, as if echoing the storm raging between them. But before either of them could say another word, Oliver turned and walked away, leaving Isla standing there, alone on the shore.

The silence between them was unbearable, the kind that pressed against Isla's chest until it felt like she couldn't breathe. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her hands clenched at her sides as Oliver's words replayed in her mind, each one sharper than the last. She wanted to fire back, to have the perfect response that would cut him down the way he always seemed to do to her. But nothing came, just the sting of frustration and the ache of everything left unsaid.

"Forget it," she muttered, shaking her head as she turned on her heel. "This was a mistake."

"Yeah, well, you're good at those," Oliver said, his voice colder than the night air, and it stopped her mid-step.

She froze, her back to him, the words like a knife twisting in her gut. Slowly, she turned back around, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. The words hit her like a slap, and for a moment, all she could do was stare at him, her breathing uneven as she tried to hold herself together. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him everything she'd bottled up since the day she left, but the knot in her throat wouldn't loosen. Instead, her eyes burned with unshed tears, and she hated herself for how vulnerable she felt in front of him.

"I don't owe you anything," she finally said, her voice trembling but defiant. "Not an explanation, not an apology-nothing."

"No, of course not," Oliver said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because God forbid Isla Coleman actually face something instead of running away."

"That's rich coming from you," she snapped, her temper flaring again. "You've been hiding behind this bitter, self-righteous act for so long, I'm surprised you even remember what it's like to feel anything else."

For a second, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes-hurt, maybe, or regret-but it was gone as quickly as it came. He shook his head, letting out a humorless laugh. "You really think you're the only one who got hurt? Newsflash, Isla: you're not the center of the universe."

The words stung, but she refused to let him see it. Instead, she took a step back, her chest heaving as she struggled to regain control of herself. She knew if she stayed a second longer, she'd say something she couldn't take back, something that would make the rift between them permanent.

"You know what?" she said, her voice quieter now, but no less firm. "Believe whatever you want, Oliver. Think whatever makes you feel better. I don't care."

"Yeah," he said, his tone hollow. "You've made that pretty clear."

She didn't respond. She couldn't. Instead, she turned and started walking away, her footsteps heavy against the sand. Her chest felt tight, every breath a struggle as her emotions clawed their way to the surface. She could feel his eyes on her as she left, but she didn't look back. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

As she reached the wooden pathway that led back to the parking lot, she muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else. "Why did I even come back?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as she pushed forward, her nails digging into her palms to keep the tears at bay. Each step away from the beach felt like shedding a layer of herself, but not in the freeing way she hoped for. Instead, it was heavy, suffocating, as if the weight of everything between them had only grown now that she was leaving.

Behind her, Oliver stood rooted in place, his arms still crossed, but his expression had softened ever so slightly. He didn't call out to her, didn't chase after her. Instead, he watched her disappear into the night, his jaw tight and his hands clenched at his sides.

Isla's legs burned by the time she reached the porch of her childhood home. The path had been uneven, the sand clinging stubbornly to her sneakers, and her breath came shallow from the tension coiled tight in her chest. She sank down onto the wooden steps, her knees bending as though they carried the weight of years instead of a single night. The house stood behind her, quiet and familiar, but she couldn't bring herself to go inside just yet.

The air was thick with salt and the faint tang of pine, the sky overhead painted in deep blues and purples as dusk surrendered to the first stretch of night. The horizon in front of her-where the ocean met the fading light-seemed vast and endless, a reminder of how small this place really was in the grand scheme of things. And yet, it felt like the entire world right now, closing in around her.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her eyes fixed on the shimmering line where the water met the stars. Her thoughts churned, restless and unrelenting, much like the waves she'd left behind. Everything about this town felt frozen in time. The same cracked sidewalks, the same groaning wooden piers. Even Oliver, with his sharp tongue and stubborn glare, seemed untouched by the years that had passed.

But she wasn't the same. She couldn't be.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the step beneath her, her knuckles turning white. She'd changed in ways she couldn't even begin to explain, and being back here-facing this place and the ghosts it held-only made the distance between who she was and who she'd been feel sharper. Her chest tightened, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if she'd made a mistake coming back.

But it wasn't that simple. She knew it wasn't just the town, or even Oliver, that unnerved her. It was what they represented-the weight of unfinished business and the parts of herself she'd buried, thinking she could leave them behind. But they were still here, woven into the fabric of this place, tangled with the crashing waves and the unspoken words that hung in the air like fog.

Isla's gaze dropped to her hands, where sand still clung stubbornly to her skin, and she brushed it away almost angrily, as if that could erase the grit of her past that clung just as tightly. She drew a shaky breath, her jaw tightening.

She thought about Oliver's face, the way his eyes had narrowed, his words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. She hadn't expected to see him tonight-hadn't wanted to. But maybe some part of her knew it was inevitable, that returning here meant coming face to face with everything she'd tried to escape.

Her eyes drifted back to the horizon, where the last traces of sunlight bled into the sea. The darkness was creeping in now, quiet and consuming, but it didn't feel like a fresh start. It felt like a reminder.

The porch creaked faintly beneath her as she sat there, unmoving. She didn't know how long she stayed like that, staring into the abyss of night, but her thoughts refused to quiet. The town hadn't changed. Oliver hadn't changed. But she had. And the gulf between those truths felt insurmountable.

She released a slow, unsteady breath, her shoulders slumping as her body sagged under the weight of it all. She had told herself she'd left this place behind, that her past belonged in the rearview mirror. But now, sitting here on this porch, her heart beating heavy and uneven, she realized something she didn't want to admit.

It wasn't her past that was chasing her. It was her.

She'd never left it behind.

And as the stars took their places in the darkened sky, she felt it settling over her-an unshakable truth that made her stomach twist. No matter how far she'd run, or how much she'd changed, everything she'd tried to leave behind had been waiting for her all along.

author's note !!!!
I'M SO HAPPY ABT THIS PROLOGUE !!! CAN YOU SENSE THE TENSION ??? THE DRAMA ????
in the clerb we all want drama !!!!
LET ME KNOW YOUR OPINIONS !!! LEAVE A COMMENT IF YOU WANT AND A STAR ⭐️ TO SUPPORT MY WORK !!!

thank you for the attention !! 💗💗💗💗