"The flame is small, but it can light the night. Maybe we're the same—broken, yet stubborn."
— Mike, Island Journal, Page 252
———
After dinner, the wind began to pick up on the island. From far away, waves rolled and crashed, sounding like whispers in a dream.
Jane sat alone at the table. The warm light inside cast soft amber outlines through the wooden windows. Her fingers gently unfolded the last page of the letter. Her eyes stopped on the sentence that stabbed straight into her chest:
"Mother, I'm about to die. But I don't think I ever truly lived. Your kindness… your daughter can only repay you in the next life."
She stared at those words, her eyes distant, as if a long-buried feeling had finally found its way to the surface. A shimmer at the corner of her eye, but no tear fell.
George quietly walked over. He didn't speak, just crouched beside the dying fire outside and nudged the coals until the flames came back to life.
"You okay?" he asked, handing her an opened bottle of beer.
Jane folded the letter and walked over to sit beside him.
"When I was a kid, I immigrated to the U.S. with my parents. Back in elementary school, I couldn't speak a word of English. I was mocked and isolated all the time."
Her voice was calm, almost detached. "I ate lunch alone every day. No one wanted to sit with me."
George listened quietly.
"Luckily, my mom loved me fiercely. She'd write me notes every day and stick them on my lunchbox. Sometimes little drawings, mostly words of encouragement. She'd tell me to share my food, even when I had little." Jane smiled faintly. "She was the one warm light in my cold little world."
She paused, her voice softening further.
"But when I was in middle school, she was diagnosed with cancer. Two years later, she was gone. After that, I stopped talking about her to anyone."
George didn't respond immediately—he just gently patted her shoulder.
Jane took the beer and drank a sip.
"I stayed until the end at her funeral. Just stood there, at the chapel door, watching them close the casket. It felt like the light she had built for me—quiet, steady, and warm—had vanished with her, leaving my world dimmer than before."
She whispered, "I miss her."
George said nothing for a long while. Then finally, in a low voice:
"My ex-wife told me she was pregnant—with someone else's child."
"We were stationed in Iraq all those years. She fell for someone else. I get it, we were barely together, always fighting." He gave a bitter chuckle. "But when she told me she was having his baby… I just went blank. I really thought we'd made it past the worst."
Mike had been silent until then.
Eventually, he spoke.
"I was in foster care six times. I don't even remember what my birth parents looked like."
He stared at the fire. "I don't think I've ever really felt loved. Not even with Maria. Not even through marriage, the wedding, or having our daughter… Everything just followed the script. Numb and mechanical. Like life had this countdown timer, and you were expected to hit all these milestones by a certain age."
The fire cracked gently. A reply, or maybe a sigh.
Jane rested her chin lightly on the lip of the bottle. "It's hard for everyone. Doesn't matter if it's a hundred years ago or now—life's always been tough."
She looked up at Mike and George. Her tone was soft, but sincere.
"Mike, do you believe in fate?"
Mike turned to her. "What do you mean, fate?"
Jane said slowly, "I mean… You finding the bottle wasn't an accident. George joining you wasn't an accident either. And him finding me—no accident at all. I can't shake the feeling that some invisible hand is pulling our lives together. Maybe it's for something bigger. Something we don't understand yet."
George half-joked, "Sounds like we're assembling a team for a spy mission. Like we're being called up again."
Jane smiled. "Isn't this a battlefield too? One's unemployed, one's divorced, and one's even more…"
She glanced at Mike, but didn't finish.
George blinked. "Unemployed? I thought you were on vacation?"
Jane sipped her beer. "Maybe PTSD… I haven't been able to keep a job since I got out. Feels like I don't belong in the world anymore. Said I came to help you, but maybe I'm just running—from my own pathetic life."
George asked, "What about your boyfriend? You used to call him all the time back in Iraq."
Jane was silent for two seconds. "We broke up not long after I got back. We always had things to talk about when we were apart, but once we were together… everything felt off. We argued constantly. Then we didn't even bother arguing anymore."
The fire cast faint light over their faces. They didn't speak again for a while. Even the waves seemed to quiet.
George said lightly, "Hey, maybe on this trip to China, we'll find true love."
Jane raised her bottle. "Why not? To new friendships, and a new journey. Cheers."
She laughed. "Do you remember the food back at the Iraq base? I still can't believe they fed us that stuff. Makes me nauseous just thinking about it."
George groaned. "Please, no. Don't get me started on the bathrooms…"
The three of them sat around the fire, trading stories of their time in Iraq. Laughing, drinking, until late into the night.
Eventually, the night settled into their bones.
After George and Jane went inside, Mike wandered over to the familiar coconut tree. He laid on the trunk, looking up at the endless stars and the moon, and his thoughts slipped back into the dream—
That girl's helpless eyes still shimmered in the dark.
The wind grew colder. The leaves rustled, like someone whispering far away.
The fire had long gone out, leaving only a few embers glowing faintly under ash. The cat curled up on the rattan chest by the door, glanced at Mike once, then closed its eyes again.
The tide rolled in, wave after wave. The rest of the world faded.
Mike lay beneath the stars, alone.
He stared at the deep blue sky, when suddenly—
the sound around him disappeared.
Fog crept across the surface of the sea.
He blinked.
A battered wooden boat emerged in the distance, slowly sinking.
A girl stood at the bow, dressed in pale green. Her black hair whipped in the wind.
She held a bundle tightly to her chest, eyes lost and desperate—searching for something, or saying goodbye.
Water lapped at her ankles. Her skirt floated on the tide. But she didn't move.
Her gaze pierced through the night, through the century—
Staring straight at him.
Mike froze. His heart pounded. He tried to call out—but no sound came.
In the next moment, the boat sank completely beneath the sea. And the girl vanished with it, swallowed by moonlight.
He sat up with a jolt. Sweat beaded on his brow.
The sea was empty. Just the waves, quietly rising and falling.
The cat meowed sharply, snapping him out of whatever spell he'd been under.
Mike looked down at his clenched fists. His knuckles were pale.
His breath slowed. But something in his chest… had opened.
Just a crack.
And through it, the faintest light had begun to shine.