"It's time to go back to the United States," Allison said. She tried to keep her voice level, but the excitement thrummed through her like a live wire. "Good news. Everyone is going. And of course, Anna... you're coming with us."
Anna, who had been lazily tossing a tennis ball against the wall, caught it mid-air and raised a dark brow. "That is real good news. I was starting to think I'd be stuck eating tapas and dodging your mother's glares forever."
Allison leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, the kind they used when they were eleven and hiding from the guards. "And guess what? I'm not telling him. I'm going to surprise him." She let out a small, breathless giggle, the kind that only surfaced when she thought of South Carolina.
"A surprise? Or an ambush?" Anna teased.
Allison ignored her, grabbing a crumpled notepad and a gold-capped pen. "What's your full name again? I need the exact spelling for the flight booking. My dad is being a stickler for the legal documents."
Anna paused, giving her a look that was equal parts disbelief and weary judgment. "Seriously, Ali? We've survived years of chaos, two broken hearts, and you still don't know my name?"
"I know it! I just don't want to mess up the middle ones," Allison defended.
"It's Anna Maria Elizabeth Rodriguez," Anna said, her voice dripping with mock-grandeur.
Allison burst into laughter, her pen nearly slipping. "I knew it! I can't help it—your ancestors must've been so crazy. Three names? You're like a Spanish duchess."
"I knew you'd turn it into a joke," Anna muttered, though a sharp smirk tugged at her lips. "In my culture, names have weight. They aren't just placeholders for bank accounts."
"I'm just making sure we don't get banned from the flight because of a typo," Allison teased, tucking the notebook under her arm and heading toward the door.
The sharp, sudden ring of the doorbell cut through the air.
"That must be the mail!"
She didn't walk; she ran. Moments later, she came skidding back into the room, breathless, her face pale.
"Anna... it's here. His letter." She held the blue-and-white envelope like it was made of ancient glass. "His last letter," she whispered, her thumb brushing over the wax seal.
"Last?" Anna arched a brow, hopping off the bed. "Of course it's the last. He has no idea his pen pal is about to appear out of nowhere and ruin his peace. God, Ali... you're going to give the man a heart attack. You're a walking cardiac arrest."
"I'm not that dangerous," Allison murmured, though her hands were shaking.
"If you don't write back, he might actually die of suspense," Anna said, her tone shifting into something more grounded.
"Remember what I told you? He liked you when you were kids. But the way he writes now? That's not 'bestie' talk, Allison. That's love. The fact that you played 'fake couple' when you were eleven? That was just practice for the real thing."
Allison looked down at the floorboards. "Anna... I don't know. Maybe. But there are billions of people in the world. Back then, we were just kids clinging to each other because we were lonely. It was friendship—nothing more."
"Okay. Understood," Anna replied, crossing her arms. "But out of those billions of people, he chose to spend six years writing to you."
The logic hit Allison like a physical weight. "Let's just open it."
She carefully broke the seal. The faint, nostalgic scent of cedarwood and salt air drifted out—melting her away.
"Wait. My heart... it's racing. I can feel it in my throat."
Anna groaned, face-planting onto the silk duvet. "Your heart doesn't have feet, Ali. It's not going anywhere. Open the damn thing!"
Allison let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh. Finally, her fingers slid something out. It wasn't just paper this time; it was thicker, glossy.
A photograph.
Anna let out a literal scream. "Oh my God, Allison!"
But Allison was silent. She just stared. For six long years, Devin Austin had been a collection of ink strokes and memories of a boy with "sorcerer's eyes." Now, the ghost was gone. He was real.
The photo wasn't a formal portrait; it looked like a stolen moment in the humid South Carolina heat. Devin was shirtless, a dark grey shirt draped carelessly over one shoulder as if he'd just come from the beach. His hair was a sandy, sun-bleached mess—spiky and unstyled, like he'd been running his hands through it all day.
Around his neck was a simple, braided cord necklace with a few small beads, resting against the hollow of his throat. His jaw was a hard, clean line, and his lips were pulled into the faintest, most devastating hint of a smile. But it was his eyes that stopped her heart—deep, hooded, and piercingly blue-grey. He looked directly into the lens with an intensity that made Allison feel like he was looking through the glossy paper and straight into her bedroom in Spain.
"What are you doing? Show me!" Anna scrambled up, nearly knocking Allison over.
Allison's lips curved into a soft, dazed smile. "For years... I imagined what he'd look like as a man," she said quietly. "And now... here he is."
She turned the photo. Anna's eyes widened until they were like saucers. "Why are you so calm?! Look at him! Allison, he's hot. Like—dangerously. He looks like he belongs on a poster in every girl's locker."
Allison frowned, a protective spark lighting up her chest. "That's... a bit much, Anna."
"It's not! Look at that 'I don't care' look. There is no way girls aren't all over him. He's got that 'bad boy with a secret' energy."
Allison stood up, pacing the length of the room, her eyes never leaving the photo. "He looks... different. Stronger. But the eyes are exactly the same."
"You are so naïve." Anna cackled. "He sent that photo to remind you of exactly what you're missing. Look at that shoulder, Ali. He's definitely not the little boy who built houses in the woods anymore."
------------------------------
That night, the villa was silent, save for the rhythmic chirping of crickets in the garden. Allison lay on her bed, the moon casting a silver glow over the photograph she held above her head.
Her fingers traced the outline of his face, the bridge of his nose, the slight curve of his lips. "His eyes..." she whispered to the shadows. "They're hypnotizing. If he stands in front of me... I don't think I'll even remember how to breathe."
"I knew it."
Allison jumped, nearly dropping the photo on her face. "You're still awake?!"
Anna smirked from the other bed, her eyes glowing in the dark. "I didn't know I was sharing a room with a pervert. You've been staring at that picture for twenty minutes."
"Shut up! I was just... analyzing the composition."
"Sure, Ali. You're staring at it like you're about to marry it. Just admit he's a ten."
Allison threw a pillow at her, but she didn't stop smiling. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright. "I have a plan."
Anna sighed, pulling the covers over her head. "Oh no... here we go."
"I'm not replying to this letter," Allison said, her voice gaining strength. "He thinks I'm still far away. When we get back to South Carolina... I'll pretend to be someone else first. I want to see if he recognizes me. I want to see how he acts when he doesn't know it's me."
Anna stared at her from under the blanket. "Go to sleep. You're losing your mind."
"What? It's a good plan! It's a test!"
"You're the crazy one," Anna muttered, turning away. "Yeah, I already knew about that plan, Allison. You don't need to repeat it. Good night. Try not to kiss the photo to death."
Allison smiled, slipping the picture under her pillow, feeling the cool edges against her palm. "Good night, my Anna."
That night, for the first time in six years, Allison didn't have to close her eyes to see him. She already knew exactly who was waiting for her on the other side of the ocean.