There's nothing more perfect than lying on the beach in the dark, staring at the stars. The night air is cool, the waves whisper against the shore, and for a moment, everything feels still—like the universe is holding its breath.

Beside me, Brian shifts slightly, the glow from his phone illuminating his face. He's texting someone. Probably his mom, calling us back home. It's getting late, but I'm not ready to leave yet. I believe life is a delicate string of quiet moments and secret dreams, and right now, I just want to stay here, frozen in time.

Growing up in a small town has always felt like being trapped in a snow globe—pretty, but suffocating. I've spent my life dreaming of what's beyond this place, of adventure and the world waiting for me outside these limits. I've always known I would leave one day. I just never thought Brian would be the one to leave first.

He's been acting strange lately—distant, withdrawn. Whenever I ask him what's wrong, he pushes me away. So, I stopped asking. But it only got worse. Tonight, he's quieter than usual, like he's carrying the weight of something he can't say.

Brian stands abruptly, dusting the sand off his jeans. My eyes linger on him a little too long. I won't lie—he's gorgeous. The way his curly hair falls into his eyes, the way his jaw tightens when he's lost in thought. Even when he frowns, it's annoyingly attractive. But I can't tell him that. He's my best friend, and he's made it clear—in small jokes, in casual words—we'll only ever be that. Just friends.

"We need to go, Blue. It's getting late," he says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Blue. He never calls me by my actual name—Leah. Just Blue.

With a sigh, I stand, brushing sand off my arms. As we walk home, I talk about how I wish we were older, how we could stay out as late as we wanted without anyone calling us back. Brian just smiles to himself. That's how we are—I'm the wild one with all the crazy ideas, and he's the quiet one who makes them happen.

When we reach our houses—his right beside mine, as always—he suddenly pulls me into a hug. Not our usual, playful kind of hug. This one is different. It's tight, lingering, like he's holding onto something more than just the moment.

I freeze for a second, then hug him back. But the feeling in my chest is unsettling.

"What's going on? You're not dying, are you?" I joke, trying to shake the unease.

Brian pulls back slightly, scoffing. "What? Hell no."

"Thought so," I say with fake relief, grinning.

"Wow, thanks for ruining the moment," he mutters, but there's laughter in his voice.

We both laugh, and for a second, it feels normal again.

I turn toward my door, my fingers brushing the knob, then glance back at him.

"See you tomorrow," I say with a smile.

But he doesn't smile back. He just nods.

I shake my head playfully, thinking, Weirdo, as I step inside

The Next Day

The morning is busy—chores, errands, the usual—but something nags at me. Brian hasn't texted me back. I've sent him two messages, and nothing. Which is odd. No matter how busy he is, he always replies.

I decide to go over to his house. Maybe his phone died, or he overslept.

But when I knock, there's no answer. I try the door—locked. That's strange. They always leave a spare key under the mat. I lift the edge of it, and my stomach twists. The key is gone.

That's when I start to panic.

I press my face against the window. Inside, the house is empty. Some boxes are stacked near the walls, but everything else—furniture, pictures, everything that made this house theirs—is gone.

Like they were never here.

My heart pounds as I sprint back home. My mom is in the kitchen, and before I can even ask, she looks at me with something close to pity.

"They left early this morning," she says softly. "Brian's family moved to Oregon. They're not coming back."

The words hit like a punch to the chest.

"What?" My voice is barely a whisper.

"They never said why. They just… left.

No. No, that doesn't make sense.

I bolt back to his house, checking every window, every locked door, like I'll somehow find a sign that this isn't real. But it is.

Brian is gone.

And he didn't say a word.

I text him—again and again. No reply. I call him. His phone goes straight to voicemail. I call his mom. His dad. Nothing. They've cut me off, disappeared like ghosts.

And then it hits me.

The way he hugged me last night, the way he looked at me like he was memorizing my face, the way he didn't say See you tomorrow

He knew.

He knew he was leaving, and he didn't tell me.

How could he do this? After everything? After years of friendship, of sneaking out, of laughing until we cried—after us—how could he just leave without a word?

I stand there, my fingers tightening around my phone, my heart aching with something I don't know how to name.

Was I not worth a goodbye?

And for the first time in my life, I realize—sometimes, the people we love the most become nothing but a memory, a whisper in the wind, a ghost in the night.

Brian is gone.

And I don't know if I'll ever see him again.