Chapter 2 — Echoes of the Past

Journal Entry (Interlude)

July 14, Two Years Ago

The sand burned against my skin, sharp and almost electric, making me laugh as I skipped to the cooler stretch near the water. It was the kind of day you try to trap in your memory—not for what we did, but for how it felt. The sun gilded everything, the breeze carried the scent of salt and wildflowers, and for a few hours, the weight of the world seemed to lift.

I’ve been trying to hold onto these moments, like fireflies in a jar, glowing but fleeting. I don’t think the others see it the way I do—that these perfect days are slipping through our fingers even as we live them.

Thomas was the first to arrive, naturally. He’d scouted the place weeks earlier—a secluded beach just outside the city, hidden behind overgrown trees and a crumbling boardwalk. The planks creaked ominously underfoot, but Thomas had likely calculated their load-bearing capacity before declaring it safe. When I got there, he was smoothing out the picnic blanket, each corner perfectly aligned like he was drafting blueprints for the afternoon.

“Do you ever just exist without trying to design the whole world?” I teased as I dropped my bag beside him.

He glanced up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “If you’d seen how uneven this blanket was when I started, you’d thank me.” His tone was light, but there was a precision to his movements that told a different story. Even here, in this pocket of chaos, he was trying to impose control.

Emma arrived next, a whirlwind of color and noise. She had an oversized bag slung over her shoulder, brimming with snacks and a portable speaker blasting some jazzy tune. Her floppy sunhat looked straight out of an old Hollywood film, and before I knew it, she plopped it onto my head.

“You’re the star today,” she declared, striking a mock bow.

It’s her gift, really—making everything feel lighter, as though she’s single-handedly holding back the clouds. Even now, I think of her laugh, ringing out like wind chimes, and I can’t help but smile.

Jake stumbled in late, hoodie pulled up despite the heat, muttering something about subway delays. He waved off Emma’s dramatic protest about his “lack of summer spirit” with a quick joke: “This is peak startup chic, thank you very much.” His humor, as always, deflected any real scrutiny, but I caught the way his shoulders tensed when he thought no one was looking.

Lily came quietly, her presence like a ripple spreading across still water. She rolled up her jeans and wandered to the shoreline, her toes tracing the surf. When I asked her what was on her mind, she gave me one of those smiles—the kind that stops just shy of her eyes.

“Nothing important,” she said, but her voice betrayed her. There was always something beneath the surface with Lily, a depth she rarely let us see. I remember watching her gaze out at the horizon, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as though she were trying to hold together some unseen fracture.

And then there was Matt, arriving last with his camera slung across his chest. His hair was already tousled by the breeze, and he barely said a word before he began snapping photos. That was Matt, though—more comfortable behind the lens than in front of it. He captured everything: Thomas lying back on the blanket, one arm resting over his eyes; Emma mid-laugh, her sunhat tilted at an absurd angle; Jake crouched over a collapsing sandcastle, muttering fake engineering jargon.

But there was a moment when Matt stopped. For just a few seconds, he lowered the camera and stood there, watching us. He looked so still, so intent, like he was trying to memorize something he couldn’t capture on film. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but the words stuck in my throat. Now I wish I’d said something.

The tide moved in as the day stretched on, pulling at the edges of our little world. We talked about nothing and everything. Emma recounted her most recent audition disaster, and Jake countered with a story about his first failed hackathon pitch. When Emma teased Lily about her “mystery article,” Lily deflected with a dry remark about how tedious research could be. Even Thomas joined in, offering a rare joke that was so deadpan it took us a moment to realize he wasn’t serious.

Then came the lull—that quiet pocket of time when the conversation gave way to the rhythm of the waves. I said something stupid like, “We should do this more often,” and everyone murmured in agreement. But we all knew the truth. Life was already pulling us in different directions. Thomas had his skyscraper project; Emma’s auditions were relentless; Lily was drowning in deadlines and secrets she wouldn’t share. Jake was chasing a dream that scared him as much as it excited him. And Matt… Matt was slipping away, though none of us wanted to admit it.

I remember catching him staring at a beer bottle, his knuckles white around its neck. For a heartbeat, his expression shifted—something raw and vulnerable flashing through his guarded exterior. I told myself it was nothing, the way you dismiss things you don’t want to see. But now… I wonder if that was the moment I should’ve said something, anything.

I don’t know why I’m writing this down. Maybe I’m afraid I’ll forget. Or maybe I know we’re standing on the edge of something, and after this, nothing will be the same.

The tide is higher now, erasing our footprints one by one. Thomas is folding the blanket with meticulous care, his movements sharp against the growing wind. Emma is chasing Jake down the beach, her sunhat forgotten, her laughter carrying over the waves. Lily lingers at the water’s edge, her jeans soaked through, lost in thought. And Matt… Matt is crouched with his camera, taking one last shot.

I hope he’s capturing this. I hope he’s capturing all of it.

Because someday, we’re going to need it.

And I hope, when that day comes, we’ll remember what it felt like to be whole.