Chapter 1 The Stranger by the Shore

Michelle's POV

I had to get out of that suffocating dorm room before I lost what was left of my sanity. The walls felt like they were closing in, and the memories of Sam's infectious laugh echoed in my head-the way he'd get excited talking about his engineering projects, the girl he liked or the annoying customer at the mall.

Two months. Two months since the phone call that shattered everything. Two months since my little brother's laugh was silenced by twisted metal and broken glass.

"Take me to the beach," I told the cab driver, my voice barely above a whisper. "Any beach."

The Pacific stretched endlessly before me, as I stepped down from the car, the setting sun painting the sky in violent shades of orange and crimson. It should have been beautiful. Instead, it felt like the world was mocking me-all this beauty continuing to exist when Sam couldn't.

I picked my way across the sand, dodging joggers and late-afternoon surfers. The salt air stung my eyes, or maybe that was just the tears I couldn't seem to stop anymore. I found a piece of weathered driftwood away from the scattered families and sank down onto it like a shipwreck survivor. The wood was rough and sun-warmed beneath my legs.

The waves crashed with relentless rhythm. Like breathing. Like living. Things I sometimes forgot to do.

I was so lost in the hypnotic pull of the water and the song playing on my phone - A thousand years by Jada Facer - that I didn't hear the footsteps until they stopped just behind me.

"Mind if I sit?"

I turned to find a man standing a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The way he stood there-not quite approaching, giving me space to refuse - suggested he understood the fragility of someone seeking solitude. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair tousled by the ocean breeze, with eyes that looked like it carried weights.

"Sure." I shifted over on the driftwood. "You look like you need it as much as I do."

He settled beside me with a heavy exhale, both of us staring out at the horizon. For several minutes, we sat in comfortable silence, two strangers united by whatever had driven us to seek solace in the endless sea.

"I lost my brother," I finally said surprising myself. I hadn't talked about Sam to anyone except the grief counselor Brenda insisted I see. "Accident. Two months ago."

He was quiet for so long I wondered if he'd heard me. Then: "I'm sorry. That's..." He shook his head. "There aren't words for that kind of loss."

Something in his voice-not pity, but understanding-made me look at him more closely. "You sound like you know."

"Yeah," he said, picking up a handful of sand and letting it slip through his fingers. I noticed his hands-strong but gentle, with the expensive watch glittering on his wrist.

"I keep thinking I see him," I admitted. "On campus, in crowds. For just a second, my heart jumps because I think... but it's never him."

"The mind plays tricks when we're grieving," he said gently. "It's trying to protect us from a reality it's not ready to accept."

There was something vulnerable about the way he held himself. "You talk like you've done some grieving yourself."

He smiled sadly. "I lost my mum sixteen years ago, in a car accident too."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." I was touched when I realized we were both carrying the same type of wound. It felt like more than coincidence; it felt like the universe had somehow brought two broken people together.

"I was closest to her," he said, facing the ground and scribbling something in the sand, fighting back the tears threatening to fall.

I patted him gently on the back. "Something must have brought those memories back again."

"Yeah," he responded, his voice filled with emotions.

***

The beach had emptied around us, leaving only the sound of waves and distant traffic. I should have felt afraid, alone with a stranger in the dark. Instead, I felt safer than I had in months.

"I should probably go home," I said, even though going back meant crying alone in my dorm again.

"Want to grab a drink?" he asked, gesturing toward his car. "I've got some in my car, and honestly, I'm not ready to go back home just yet."

I thought about it. Going back to my dorm when Brenda and Lia weren't around meant more crying and self-pity. But more than that, I felt this connection because he had passed through what I was battling with and he understood me to some extent. And for the first time in two months, I was less alone.

"I drove here," he continued, standing and brushing sand from his jeans. "If you're comfortable with that."

I looked at him, the ocean breeze pressing his shirt against him, showing how fit he was. But it was his eyes that got me-they were kind.

I hesitated. Every self-defense class, every stern parental lecture about stranger danger screamed warnings at me. But being with him felt safe.

Maybe it was how he'd kept respectful distance, or how he hadn't tried to minimize my pain with empty words.

Or maybe I was just tired of being afraid when being safe hadn't protected Sam.

"Okay," I said, taking his offered hand to pull myself up from the driftwood, and we both started walking towards where he had packed his car.

What I hadn't expected was the type of car he drove to the beach.

The Lamborghini Urus sat gleaming like something from another world-sleek, aggressive, expensive, kind of enough to fund a small country's GDP.

My stomach knotted as I realized the vast difference between our worlds-me, a struggling college student, and him, someone who could casually drive a car worth more than most people's life savings.

"Holy shit," I breathed.

His laugh was self-conscious. "Not exactly subtle, is it?"

"Are you some kind of tech billionaire or something?"

"Oh, you think so?" he said, smiling as he pressed the key fob as he opened the passenger door for me. "If this makes you uncomfortable-"

"No, it's just..." I stared at the butter-soft leather interior and the dashboard that looked like mission control.

"You getting in?" he asked.

That was when I realized I'd been staring.

I slid into the passenger seat. The leather was incredibly soft and smelled like expensive cologne and something else-maybe cedar. The scent was oddly comforting.

As he closed the door, I found myself thinking that for the first time in my life, I was taking a real risk.

Sam always said I needed to live more boldly. Maybe this stranger with kind eyes was exactly the kind of adventure he would have pushed me toward.