The candle was nearly dead when he finally showed up.
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Martin didn’t walk in like a guy who was late. He walked in like a guy who’d been lost for days & just now realized the earth still spun. His scarf was half-tied, jacket wrinkled like it had been thrown on mid-sprint. Goggles pushed up, phone in hand. "Sorry," he said, barely looking at her. "Got held up."
"It’s okay," Glykós replied, standing slowly. She’d already half-decided she would still give him the lei anyway. "I’m just glad you-"
He walked past her, slid into the seat next to her without waiting. His eyes flicked toward his phone as it buzzed again. She sat. Chef Charlie brought out his plate with his usual grin. "You made it. Didn’t burn the waffles this time. Bon appétit." Martin offered a half-smile. "Thanks, man."
Then silence.
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They started eating. Or rather—she did.
He poked at his plate between checking his phone. He replied to something. Then again. Then once more. His legs bounced beneath the table, rhythm uneven. "You’re quiet," she said, gently.
"Just tired."
"Everything OK?"
Martin looked up, something flashing behind his eyes. "Why do you always ask that?" Glykós raised her eyebrow. "Because I care?"
"You always ask like I’m about to break."
"I didn’t mean it like-"
"You don’t have to check in every time I blink weird, you know," he muttered, picking up his fork. "I’m fine."
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She wanted to shrink. Or scream. Or both. But instead, she took a deep breath. "Remember what you said the other night?" she said softly. "About letting go, about the cabin getting lonely? I’ve been thinking about that. & I know it’s scary, but-"
He cut her off with a short, frustrated exhale. "Yeah. I know. Let go. Trust the process. Open the cockpit, feel the breeze. I know how the cliches go."
She stared.
Martin kept going, voice flatter now.
"You’d say that. Everyone says that. It’s the default response."
"I’m not-"
"You think I don’t see it? You liked the remix. That’s why you’re here. Because I went viral for ten minutes for making a plane fart into a drop."
Glykós’ lips parted, but no sound came out.
Martin leaned back, eyes suddenly sharp.
"That’s what started this, right? You laughed, & then I became worth something. Maybe if I make another one, I’ll get to matter again."
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Her stomach sank. "I didn’t fall for the REMIX." She started to feel frustrated. He didn’t respond. Just tapped his screen. Another reply. Another message sent. She sat quietly for a moment, the sound of clinking forks from another table filling the silence.
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"I think I’m gonna head out, I paid already before you arrived." Glykós said, standing. "You can finish mine if you want." She reached into her bag, pulled out the lei she made earlier. Yellow & pink, frayed a little at the edge. She set it on the table gently, like it might fall apart if she dropped it too hard. "I made this for you." Martin didn’t get a chance to say anything. She turned, walked out the door, & didn’t look back.
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The docks were empty except for the sound of soft waves lapping against wood.
Glykós stood there, arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on the horizon. The sun was bleeding into the sea, spilling golds & pinks across the water, like the world was trying to console her with colors.
She didn’t move. Not even when a breeze pulled strands of her hair into her mouth.
Her eyes were puffy. They had been since Chef Charlie’s.
She hadn’t cried there. Not fully. Just••• leaked a little. Quietly, behind her glass of water. The kind of tears that don’t fall, just pool & shimmer until you blink too hard.
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But now—
Here, in the open air, with the world finally quiet—
She let herself break.
She didn’t sob. Not the loud, messy kind.
It was a quiet unraveling.
A breath that turned to shaking.
A tear that finally dared to fall.
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"Why am I like this?" she whispered to no one.
She remembered how this always happened. The pattern.
There was Johnny, all edge. She liked the idea of melting his frost. It didn’t work. He never actually needed HER. He just needed ANYBODY to be there.
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Dean, soft & warm. She’d wanted someone to run with, not someone who looked at her like she was made of porcelain.
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Then—Abel.
She exhaled sharply at the thought of him.
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Abel was supposed to be the one that made sense.
Smart. Beautiful in that dark, elegant way.
His workshop smelled like cedar & candle wax. He spoke in shapes & structures, not feelings, but that had its own poetry.
She used to drop by just to hear him talk about woodgrain.
He never caught on, or maybe he wouldn’t let himself. He never said anything. There was a distance to him she would never cross, a softness in his eyes sometimes that she knew wasn’t for her.
But he made her a surfboard fin once.
Carved it from cherrywood.
Told her it was "a favour" but polished it like it was sacred.
She had wanted to love him.
But something always felt missing.
Like they were two puzzle pieces from different boxes—both beautiful, but never meant to snap.
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& then came Martin.
Martin, who made her laugh like nobody else.
Who said weird things about cloud altitudes & yet made her feel more grounded than anyone else.
Who could be cruel without meaning to be, but also said things like “you’re better at this than I am” when she broke his high score.
Martin, whose mind was like a thunderstorm—loud, beautiful, destructive, unforgettable.
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"Why’d you have to be the one I fell for?" she muttered, wiping her face.
She sat down at the edge of the dock, hugging her knees.
Maybe she loved too hard.
Or maybe••• Maybe Martin wasn’t like the others.
He didn’t ask to be saved.
He just needed someone who wouldn’t walk away when the forecast turned ugly.
& yet—he pushed her.
So maybe••• Maybe she wasn’t the one for him.
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The wood behind her creaked.
She turned.
"Nikki?"
The sailor girl smiled, one hand tucked into her oversized hoodie, the other holding a thermos. "Didn’t expect to see you here. You okay?"
Glykós tried to lie. Couldn’t.
"Not really."
Nikki nodded, then sat beside her.
They didn’t speak for a while. Just shared the quiet.
Then, without looking over, Glykós asked:
"Would it be cool if I crashed at your ferry tonight?"
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"Course you can," Nikki said. "Got extra blankets. The good ones."
Glykós sniffled, nodded. Tried to thank her, but the words came out as more tears.
Nikki just passed her the thermos.
"Hot tea," she said. "You don’t have to talk yet."
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