January 10, 2030
The bar was a low building with a tin roof and a sign that had faded until the last letters were guesswork. It sat a few steps off the beach road, close enough that sand still tracked in on people's slippers, far enough that the noise from the shoreline didn't drown out conversation.
Hana stopped at the entrance and looked inside.
Timothy stood half a step behind her, towel still in his bag, salt still on his skin no matter how much he had rinsed. His shirt was clean but light, the kind of thing he never wore in Manila unless someone forced it on him.
Hana glanced back. "One drink."
Timothy stared at her. "You're setting a limit again."
"I'm setting a boundary," Hana said. "There's a difference."
Timothy didn't answer. He followed her in.
