The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm orange glow over the water as Noah and I walked side by side along the harbor. The gentle breeze carried the salty scent of the sea, and the sound of waves lapping against the dock created a soft rhythm beneath our quiet footsteps. His hand brushed against mine occasionally, and though he didn't take it, the closeness felt enough.

It was one of those moments that didn't need words. The day had slipped by easily—late breakfast, lounging around the house, and now this. Just him and me, with the sky melting into soft hues as if the world had decided to slow down for a while.

"I forgot how pretty it gets this time of day," I said softly, watching as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. The reflection on the water shimmered, broken only by the occasional sailboat moving lazily across the surface.

Noah glanced at me with a small smile. "You say that every time we're down here."

"Maybe. But it's true."

He didn't argue. Instead, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and stared out at the boats lined up along the dock. His hair caught the breeze, a little messy but in that careless way that somehow still looked good on him.

"Feels like summer's moving fast this year," he said after a while, his voice quiet.

I bit the inside of my cheek. I'd been thinking the same thing but didn't want to admit it. Not out loud.

"Yeah," I murmured.

The weight of that single word sat between us for a moment before Noah gently nudged me with his shoulder. "We've still got time."

I smiled, but part of me couldn't ignore the little tug in my chest. Time felt like a funny thing lately—something I didn't quite want to think about, even as it slipped away faster than I liked.

As the sun started to set, we slowly made our way back to Noah's place. I wasn't ready for the day to end, but there was comfort in the quiet that followed us all the way home.

When I stepped inside the beach house later that evening, the smell of pasta sauce filled the air, and I could hear my parents talking in the kitchen. The clinking of dishes and the low hum of conversation floated through the open space, and for a second, everything felt normal—like it had at the start of summer.

I walked toward the kitchen, leaning against the doorway as I watched them from a distance. My mom glanced over and smiled. "Hey, Em. You're back earlier than I thought."

"Yeah, just went for a walk with Noah."

My dad looked up from the stove, stirring the sauce. "How's he doing?"

"Good," I said simply, but there was a warmth in my voice I couldn't quite hide.

My mom exchanged a glance with my dad, something unspoken passing between them. I wasn't sure what it meant, but I pretended not to notice.

"Dinner's almost ready," Dad said, changing the subject. "We're eating a little early tonight since we've got some planning to do."

"Planning?" I asked, stepping further into the kitchen.

My mom nodded. "Just sorting out details for the trip home. You know, making sure everything's in order for when we leave."

The words landed heavier than I expected. I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out right away. When? Not if. Not sometime.

"When were you thinking of heading back?" I tried to sound casual, but my voice felt tighter than I wanted it to.

"A couple more weeks," she said, glancing at her phone. "But we'll confirm the exact date soon."

I nodded, as if that was the answer I'd been expecting all along. And maybe I had been, somewhere deep down.

But it didn't stop the small knot from forming in my stomach.