Part 1 -Welcome to Okinawa
The air was thick with salt and sun when Deon stepped off the plane. Even the heat felt different here — warm, heavy, almost sweet. Okinawa.
He slung his bag over his shoulder and smiled to himself. Finally. A trip that wasn’t about long shifts or study hours or endless patients calling his name. For once, it was about him.
Not about Sierra. Not about what he couldn’t have. Just... him.
His phone buzzed. A quick message from Jordy: Don’t forget me when you’re out there. I like weird souvenirs.
Deon chuckled. Typical Jordy. He pictured her face when he handed her some tacky trinket from the market. That thought warmed him more than the sun did.
“Yo!”
The shout cut across the arrivals gate. Keyon strode forward, arms wide, looking like he hadn’t aged a day since high school — still tall, still sharp, still with that aura that made people turn and look. Beside him, Sierra waved, all glossy hair and warm smile.
“Deon Changes, in the flesh,” Keyon said, clapping him into a hug. His grip was firm, confident — the kind of handshake that said he’d never doubted himself a day in his life.
“Bout time you got here,” Sierra added, hugging him after. She smelled like something sweet and familiar. Deon’s chest tightened in a way he’d trained himself not to show.
⸻
Dinner that night was in a lively izakaya. They crowded around a small wooden table, beer mugs clinking as small plates piled up.
It felt... almost like old times. The three of them laughing, remembering grade school fights and teenage pranks. Keyon told stories like he was still holding court in the cafeteria, and Sierra laughed the same way she had back then — head thrown back, eyes half-lidded.
Deon laughed too, but quietly. His gaze lingered too long on her, the way it always had. She caught him once, their eyes locking across the table, and the world tilted. Just for a moment.
By the time Sierra leaned into Keyon’s side, saying she was tired, Deon knew he’d drunk too much to head back just yet.
⸻
The bar was quieter, shadows stretching long across polished wood. That’s when he saw her.
Messy black hair, oversized anime hoodie, baggy jeans. Not exactly dressed for nightlife. But when she looked up — wow. Her face was stunning,eerily familiar. The same full lips, the same sharp cheekbones,the same eyes that had been haunting him across a dinner table just hours ago.
No. That was impossible. Just the alcohol playing tricks.
“Really?” he asked, nodding at the logo on her hoodie. “That anime? Nah, you’ve got bad taste.”
She smirked, unimpressed. “You didn’t just say that.”
“Oh, I did.”
And just like that, they were in it — arguing plotlines, debating characters, trading shots like they’d been doing this their whole lives. The hours slipped past unnoticed. Drinks turned to laughter. Laughter turned to secrets.
When they finally dragged themselves back to his hotel room, it wasn’t for what anyone would assume. They just... kept talking.
Deon woke to sunlight burning through the blinds, his neck stiff. Amina — she’d told him her name somewhere in the haze — was curled beside him, hoodie half off her shoulder, still fully clothed, hair in chaotic waves.
She stirred, blinking blearily. “Morning.”
He smirked. “You’re not what I expected when I walked into that bar.”
“Guess that makes two of us.” She stretched, yawning, before gathering her things.
He scribbled his number on a receipt and slid it her way. “If you get bored... hit me up.”
She raised a brow, tucked it away. “Well, I guess this is the not-so-shameful walk of shame.”
“Maybe another time,” he said as she waved and disappeared down the hall.
He sat there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway. Something about her smile had felt... familiar. Too familiar.
Then his phone buzzed. Sierra — five missed calls. Eight texts.
Sierra: I really should put an alarm around your neck. Where are you!?😡
“Shit.”
