Maeson
"Sometimes I feel like the lighthouse guiding others through the storm, but no one wonders if I'm also sinking inside." — Anonymous
At the beach, Vanessa becomes that silent lighthouse that steadies my peace. Since our first encounter, her presence has been a refuge from the noise, the problems that arise with the guys, and the pressure of leading the group. When I look at her, all the noise fades, and the small sparks of warmth she stirs in me make every shared moment feel meaningful. Beside her, I find the calm I've been needing—as if, for a moment, the world rearranges itself around her light.
That calm seems to hang in suspension the moment she's not there. And now, my friend Wenn—Shawn's girlfriend—is one of my worries. I know something's going on with her. Days before we flew from LA to Melbourne, her mood swung more wildly than the playlist of someone nursing a broken heart. I know Shawn loves her, but that guy sometimes misses the most obvious signs. The little lie the girls told at breakfast was way too obvious. And even though Wenn wasn't exactly clear in her cry for help when she said, "I need my guys—bring food and music. We're waiting at the beach near the house in 20 minutes," I knew something had happened during her little trip with Vanessa to buy "girl stuff." But Shawn's reaction was just, "Let's go! Beach day!"
When we got there, Shawn made up for his lack of insight with his usual warmth and love. He picked up Wenn and carried her into the waves like two teenagers in love. Maybe, without realizing it, he was giving her exactly what she needed.
And Vane—she was there, perfect as always—but I could tell something was bothering her. Zane and I sat on either side of her, and I watched discreetly as she tried to read Zane's book. Her curiosity is what brought us to this moment, and I couldn't help but smile, grateful for that first beach day.
There's something about candid photos—where no one poses or worries about lighting—that captures the truth of who we are together. I remember when Vanessa took that photo, the one that started the mystery of the "Mysterious Photographer." And now, as I look at everyone in the picture—Wenn and Shawn playfully bickering mid-laughter, wrapped in an embrace while Shawn makes faces to make her laugh; Konnor in the corner, half-absorbed, like the group's noise is a language he prefers to listen to without replying just yet; and Zane—always with that energy that could light up any room—resting an arm on my shoulder, pulling me into his light chaos while reading a book. Me, in the center, holding the sun with a half-smile, looking straight at her. I wonder if they notice—if they know that frozen moment reminds me no storm is too strong when there's shelter.
The photo ended up in the group chat I created—that little corner of bad stickers, inside jokes, and phrases only we understand. I love seeing her there, reading everything, chiming in, unafraid to be awkward or say what she thinks. It's like there's always been a space for her, and we're only now realizing it.
That day, I don't know where I found the courage, but after sending the photo to the group, I scrolled through my music library until I landed on "Compass" by The Neighbourhood. It's one of those songs you don't just throw into the air for anyone—it hurts if they don't listen with an open heart. But with her, it felt right. I waited a few seconds, and just as I hoped, her curiosity won. She gave me a small gesture, asking to hear the song, and I handed her the earbud, pretending I wasn't dying inside, waiting for her reaction. And in the end, when we looked at each other, her eyes said it all—she felt it too.
I gave myself one last push from fate and asked if we could talk away from the group. It was now or never.
The ocean, her gaze, half-confessions, our closeness, and the phone call—it all blended into the perfect storm of what she and I are feeling. I told her a story from my childhood that I've never shared—not even with the guys. Not because I'm ashamed, but because I don't like showing vulnerability most of the time. But she makes me want to tell her everything—no filter, no excuses. And I know her confessions hold truths she's not ready to share yet, but I recognize a soul carrying more than it can bear. The death of her parents, her grandmother, and her uncle—all shaped the girl standing in front of me. And I accept every part of her, even if she doesn't know it yet.
After her confession, after her bravery, I took every doubt inside me and threw it into the sea. I moved closer to her—but life always finds a way to twist things. And her friend's call came at the exact moment everything could've changed for our story.
I knew it the second I heard her talking to her friend. That was enough. I'd do anything for her. The moment she told me, I offered my help immediately—and pulled the guys into it with subtle glances, asking them to play along. Zane got the message instantly and offered his car, though I know he would've done it anyway. Konnor hesitated a bit, but in the end, he joined the rescue mission for Melissa.
Just then, Wenn passed by us crying, and behind her, Shawn gave us a confused look. Something in me switched on—like someone who knows how to read silence. Something's definitely going on with Wenn. And I hope that, if she needs me, I can be her anchor.