Chapter Four — The First Item
Lyra's POV
Crescent Bay looked like something pulled straight from a postcard — sunlight spilling over white-sand curves, seagulls drifting low over the waves, the kind of blue that didn't look real.
"I can't believe we actually did this," Saphira said, climbing out of Aveline's car. "A real road trip. Like functional adults."
Cassian stretched, yawning. "If by functional you mean running on iced coffee and denial, then sure."
Evan chuckled as he grabbed our cooler from the trunk. "Hey, we made it here in one piece. That's a win."
"Barely," I muttered. "You drive like a maniac."
"I drive with passion."
"You drive with a death wish."
He grinned, handing me my sunglasses. "And yet you still let me take the wheel."
I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway. That was the thing about Evan — somehow, he always found a way to make the chaos feel safe.
The others ran ahead, already kicking off their shoes, chasing the shoreline like kids who'd forgotten how to be tired. For a moment, I just stood there, toes buried in the sand, watching the sunlight bounce off the water.
It reminded me of home — not Lumera, but the old town I came from. The one with mango trees in every backyard, where my mom used to hum Tagalog songs while sketching blueprints at the kitchen table.
She was the reason I fell in love with buildings — the way she'd talk about how walls could breathe if you designed them right, how every home told a story.
"Someday," she used to say, "you'll build something beautiful enough to make the world stop for a second."
Back then, I thought I'd never have the chance. Everything felt too broken, too far from beautiful.
But now, with the ocean wind brushing my hair and my friends' laughter echoing down the beach, maybe she was right. Maybe I was finally learning how to start again.
"Earth to Sol."
Evan's voice cut through my thoughts. He was standing beside me, barefoot, grinning. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just… thinking."
"Dangerous habit of yours"
I laughed. "You know my mom wanted to move here once?"
"Crescent Bay?"
"Yeah. She said the architecture here was different — more open, more alive. I guess she liked how the houses looked like they were breathing."
He glanced at me, eyes soft. "Sounds like her."
"She still sketches everything by hand," I said quietly. "And I kind of want to do that too. Architecture, I mean."
Evan smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Then you will. You always build things — memories, friendships, entire people, somehow. It's just what you do."
For a second, my chest felt too full to speak. So I did what I always did — tugged the star necklace and looked away before the emotion got too heavy.
"Come on," he said, offering his hand. "Let's find seashells or something cliché."
"Wow, romantic," I teased, but took his hand anyway.
We walked along the shore, the waves lapping at our ankles. Soraya and Saphira were already attempting to build a sandcastle with zero engineering sense. Cassian and Aveline were arguing over sunscreen. Everything was loud, ridiculous, perfect.
At one point, Soraya ran up holding a half-broken conch shell. "Look what I found! We should keep something from every list item — like souvenirs."
"That's actually cute," Saphira said. "We can make a box at Lyra's place. The memory vault."
I laughed. "We'll run out of space by winter."
Evan shrugged. "Then we'll build another one."
The rest of the day passed in golden blur — photos, sand between our fingers, fries from a beach shack that looked one wave away from collapsing. By the time the sun began to dip, the sky was bleeding orange and pink, painting everything soft.
We spread out an old blanket, and the group fell quiet as the waves rolled in.
Aveline tilted her head toward the horizon. "You ever think about how small we are? Like, compared to all this?"
Cassian groaned. "Don't get existential on me, babe. I left my deep thoughts back at home."
Soraya threw a fry at him. "Too late. You're part of the moment now."
We all laughed.
But I knew what she meant.
The ocean had this way of making you remember — all the years, all the things you thought you'd forgotten.
Four years ago, I was a quiet freshman trying to unlearn pain. Now I was here, with people who once felt like strangers, standing at the edge of the world and daring it to change us again.
"Okay," Saphira said suddenly, sitting up. "Item number one: Visit a town you've never been to. Done."
She scribbled it off the wrinkled list, triumphant.
Cassian yawned. "One down, how many to go?"
"Twenty-Something."
He groaned. "We're doomed."
Aveline giggled. "Don't be dramatic."
Soraya raised her cup. "To the start of something unforgettable."
Everyone echoed the toast, plastic cups clinking, laughter spilling into the sea breeze.
I looked at them — my chaotic, imperfect, beautiful group — and felt the warmth settle deep inside my chest.
Maybe Soraya was right. Maybe this would be the year we actually lived.
Still, as the sun sank below the waterline and the star pendant brushed against my skin, a strange thought lingered.
Somewhere, between the sound of the waves and the echo of their laughter, I couldn't help but wonder —
What if some memories weren't meant to be found again?