Chapter 4 — The Three-Person Trip

Without the slightest hesitation, I tore the letter into pieces, bit by bit. Every single scrap was gathered into the garbage pouch in the front seat. Those once-cherished words of romance that had once stirred my soul came to an end here, entirely losing their power. The arrival announcement suddenly rang out clearly, reminding passengers that the aircraft was about to reach its destination. I straightened my back and relaxed shoulders that had remained tense for far too long. Gazing at the city outlines gradually sharpening beyond the window, the corners of my lips curved into a faint, relieved smile. I murmured softly, so quietly that only I could hear.

Only four years. I am only twenty-two, and starting over is not that difficult.

The cabin doors slowly slid open, driving away the stuffiness within. I followed the steady stream of passengers toward the arrival gate, my eyes anxiously scanning the crowd for a sign bearing my name. The guesthouse owner had sent me a message early in the morning, promising to arrange someone to pick me up. I searched back and forth for more than ten minutes, yet the agreed-upon sign remained nowhere in sight. Just as I prepared to pull out my phone to call the owner and inquire, a hurried figure rushed forward from behind, colliding heavily against the edge of my suitcase. The luggage lost its balance and toppled over with a crash, sending my loose documents scattering in every direction. My heart seized as I bent down to gather them. A lean silhouette had already squatted down before me, moving with swift efficiency. Having collected and arranged all my belongings, he raised his gaze to meet mine and offered a gentle apology. Across his chest hung a pale wooden volunteer badge, stamped with four distinct characters reading Seaside Little Courtyard.

I am truly sorry, I was walking in such a rush just now and bumped right into you.

I am Star, a volunteer from the courtyard, sent by the owner to pick you up.

Traffic along the road caused quite a delay, I am sorry to have kept you waiting for so long.

His voice was warm and subdued. With that, he effortlessly hoisted my heavy suitcase. As we walked, he glanced sideways at my luggage and offered a casual tease.

Most travelers who come here to temporarily escape and unwind only carry a tiny bag.

Your suitcase is packed this full; it seems you intend to stay at the courtyard for a long time and properly mend your heart.

My footsteps faltered. I remained silent for a few seconds before giving a slight nod. The white electric cart belonging to the courtyard cruised along the coastal road. Outside the window, a pale blue sea stretched endlessly into the horizon. Star reached into the vehicle's storage compartment, retrieved a chilled bottle of green plum juice, and handed it toward my hand. Having never cared for sweet and sour beverages, I gently shook my head in refusal. He raised an eyebrow, withdrew the bottle, and placed it aside, his tone carrying a touch of playful teasing.

You have been radiating low pressure all the way here.

Drinking something sweet can at least dilute the troubles choking your heart. Rest assured, I did not poison it.

I twitched the corner of my lips without replying, turning my gaze back to the coastline continuously retreating outside the window. Twenty minutes later, the vehicle halted before the wooden gates of the Seaside Little Courtyard. The owner was already waiting outside, stepping forward warmly to relieve me of the cloth bag on my shoulder. Smiling, she led me upstairs to inspect the single sea-view room on the second floor. Star carried my suitcase up, entered the room, and obligingly helped me gather the books and script drafts scattered across the floor. Turning back to look at me, he asked.

Did you major in screenwriting?

I usually shoot independent short films myself, but I have always lacked suitable writing. In time, we can exchange ideas more often.

I offered a lukewarm response, bending down to search through the inner compartment of my luggage. I retrieved the women's ring that Aaron had picked up and shoved back at me. The metal band had long since lost its luster, and I tossed it straight into the wastebasket. Star happened to be passing the doorway carrying a mug of warm water, which he gently placed upon the desk.

The coastal air is heavy with moisture, you should drink less cold water. Warm water will make you feel much better.

With those words, he softly pulled the door closed behind him, leaving me with sufficient space to be alone. By dusk, the courtyard's rooftop terrace was set with a few simple home-cooked dishes. Mosquitoes bit me several times, and instinctively, my hand kept swatting at my arms. Star, sitting nearby, quietly produced a tube of peppermint anti-mosquito ointment from his pocket and passed it over, though his teasing tongue remained relentless.

You look so fragile, yet you ventured out to live on your own without even doing any prior research.

Dusk slowly descended, painting the distant sky in gradual washes of orange-pink twilight. Star picked up the camera slung across his chest and snapped a photo of the ocean. A moment later, he turned the camera screen toward me.

No matter how agonizing your troubles are, they do not match the beauty of this sunset.

Ultimately, people must look ahead. Do not let yourself remain trapped in the past.

The emotions I had kept tightly bound for so long finally loosened just a fraction.

The days of resting at the Seaside Little Courtyard passed slowly and quietly. I gradually formed the habit of waking early. Just as dawn broke, I would carry a wooden chair up to the second-floor terrace, spreading out my manuscript paper to write short stories. The morning sea breeze blew lawlessly, frequently carrying a damp, salty mist that whipped the manuscript pages into a frenzy, scattering them across the terrace. Almost every morning, as Star returned from capturing the morning dew along the shore, he would catch me in the flustered act of trying to hold down my flying papers.