The humid air wrapped around Kara as soon as she stepped off the plane, carrying the scent of salt and frangipani. She tugged her suitcase behind her, bracelet glinting in the sunlight streaming through the terminal windows. Her mom walked beside her, fussing over the luggage.
"Do you have your documents?" her mom asked for the third time.
"Yes, Mom," Kara laughed, shifting her backpack. "Passport, acceptance letter, ID. All here."
Her mom squinted at her. "You always say that, but I'll believe it when I see it."
Kara nudged her gently. "Relax. I'm not a kid anymore."
Her mom sighed, though a small smile betrayed her. "That's what scares me."
The guesthouse was tucked down a quiet lane in Jimbaran, its white walls climbing with bougainvillea. The small courtyard had a pool that shimmered blue in the afternoon light. Kara dropped her bags inside her room, which smelled faintly of fresh paint and wood polish.
"Not bad," her mom said, scanning the space. "Better than your messy room back home."
Kara flopped onto the bed, bouncing once. "This is mine now. My first room away from you guys."
Her mom leaned on the doorframe, watching her.
"Are you ready for that?"
Kara hesitated, then nodded. "I think I have to be."
The next few days blurred with errands signing university documents, visiting the campus, sorting her schedule. Kara's mom was at her side for every step, asking questions Kara wouldn't have thought to ask, carrying snacks in her bag like old habits didn't die just because Kara was twenty-one.
One evening, after a long day, they sat at a small warung near the beach, bowls of mie goreng steaming between them. The sky turned pink and gold above the horizon.
Her mom twirled noodles around her fork, then set it down. "I know you think I push too hard sometimes."
Kara looked up, surprised. "Mom.."
"Let me finish." Her mom's voice was soft but steady. "I never wanted you to feel like you weren't enough. I only… I only wanted you to see how much more you could be. And now, watching you here" Her eyes shone. "I think maybe I can finally let go a little."
Kara's throat tightened. She reached across the table, squeezing her mom's hand. "I was angry at you, a lot. But I get it now. And I'm glad you're here with me. Just for this first week."
Her mom chuckled. "Just this week? You're already kicking me out?"
Kara grinned. "Not kicking. Just… letting myself stand on my own two feet."
The waves crashed in the distance, a rhythm that matched the beating of Kara's heart steady, forward, alive.
***
The office had its usual Monday buzz, printers spitting paper, footsteps clicking across polished tiles, muted chatter bleeding through cubicle walls, but to Avery it all felt sharper, more fragile, as if every sound marked a countdown. Three weeks. That's all she had left before she walked out of this place for good.
She set her bag down and booted up her computer, trying to anchor herself in routine. But before the login screen even lit up, Oakley dropped a file on her desk, followed by a dramatic sigh.
"So." Oakley leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed. "You really did it. The infamous resignation letter."
Archie appeared right after, balancing two mugs of coffee like he was stepping into a scene he didn't want to miss. He slid one toward Avery. "We give it a week before HR sends out a mournful email about losing their brightest star."
Avery gave a tired laugh, wrapping her hands around the mug. "You guys are being dramatic. People resign all the time."
"People resign," Oakley countered, "but you? You're like… the glue in this place. Half the tenants only sign because you can talk them into it. What happens when you're not here?"
"Then someone else takes over," Avery said softly, though her throat tightened.
Archie pulled up a chair, dropping his voice so only they could hear. "Real talk, Ave. What's the plan? I mean.. after this. You've got something lined up?"
Avery hesitated. She thought of the interview at No. 1 Mall, the new chapter waiting for her, but the words tangled on her tongue. "Not yet. But… I just know I can't stay. Not like this. Not with everything that's changed."
Oakley and Archie exchanged a look. Oakley was the first to break it, leaning closer. "We just don't want you to crash and burn. You've been through hell this year already. Don't add more fire."
"I know," Avery whispered. "But this feels like the only way forward. If I stay, I'll keep seeing… pieces of her. At the mall, in the tenants, in the events. And I can't heal if I keep breathing her air."
The silence that followed was heavy, but Archie finally nodded. "Then we'll back you. Even if we think you're insane."
"Especially then," Oakley added with a half-smile.
Avery chuckled, blinking away the sudden sting in her eyes. "God, I'm gonna miss you two."
"You better," Archie said. "Otherwise we'll haunt you in your sleep."
The rest of the day carried its usual rhythm: meetings with prospective tenants, back-and-forth emails, a presentation to finalize for the leasing head. Yet every task had a strange weight, like it was happening in slow motion. In the conference room, she caught herself staring at the glass walls, imagining her chair empty. Who would sit there after her? Would they carry the same notebooks, keep the same coffee stains on the desk, laugh with Oakley and Archie the same way?
By late afternoon, she and her team were reviewing event proposals. Oakley scribbled notes furiously, Archie cracked his usual sarcastic asides, and Avery forced herself to stay sharp. But inside, she felt like a ghost rehearsing her last performance.
When the meeting ended, Archie nudged her on the way out. "Hey. Tonight. Drinks at Sky Lounge. Non-negotiable. If you're leaving us, we're milking every last minute."
Avery smiled, grateful. "Fine. But only if you're paying."
Oakley smirked. "You wish."
Back at her desk, the office lights dimming as evening crept in, Avery sat with her resignation letter still open on the corner of her screen. She reread it, her own name and the words "effective two weeks from today" staring back. It was final, irreversible.
Her phone buzzed. A notification lit up the lock screen: a message from Luke.
Proud of you.
Avery closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Three weeks. She would give them her best, right until the last second.
And then whatever came next.
***
The next morning meetings stacked one after another, as if the universe wanted to test her resolve. A leasing review, then a tenant negotiation, followed by a brainstorming session for the mall's upcoming anniversary event. Avery kept her tone steady, her smile in place, her notes meticulous. She could almost trick herself into believing nothing was changing. Almost.
By noon, her shoulders ached from holding it all in.
Oakley appeared at her desk, tapping his pen like a drumstick. "Lunch. Now. Before you bury yourself under another spreadsheet."
"I can't. I have..."
"Nope." Oakley cut her off. "You're resigning. That means we get to squeeze every moment out of you."
Archie leaned over the cubicle wall, wagging his brows. "He's right. Come on, Ave. There's this café by the lake, just a twenty-minute drive. Quiet, fresh air. We need it, you need it."
Avery hesitated, her inbox still glowing with unread emails. But the thought of escaping the office walls for even an hour made her chest loosen. She sighed. "Fine. But just an hour."
The drive out of the city was a balm in itself. The hum of traffic faded into stretches of trees, and the air grew lighter, cooler. When they finally reached the café, it was perched on the edge of a small lake, its wooden deck spilling out over the water.
They found a table near the railing. The surface of the lake rippled softly, catching the midday sun. For a moment, Avery just breathed.
"This is better than the cafeteria," she admitted, glancing at the menu.
"Told you," Oakley said, smug. "I always deliver the best escapes."
Archie leaned back in his chair, watching her. "So… three weeks, huh? You really ready for this?"
Avery traced her finger along the grain of the wooden table. "Ready or not, it's happening. I can't back out now."
"Not what I asked," Archie pressed. "I mean emotionally ready. To leave us. To leave all this."
Her throat tightened. She looked at the lake, at the way the light shifted like liquid glass. "No. Not really. But staying would feel like drowning. At least this way, I get to swim somewhere else."
Oakley set down his drink, eyes softer now. "Promise us you're not running away just to run away. That you're running toward something."
Avery thought of the email from No. 1 Mall, the interview, the glimpse of a future that wasn't haunted. "I am. Or at least… I'm trying to."
They ate slowly, teasing each other between bites of pasta and iced coffee. Oakley cracked jokes about tenants who would probably forget her name the second she left. Archie mimicked their boss's overdramatic sighs whenever Avery delivered bad news in meetings. Laughter spilled into the lake air, and for the first time in weeks, Avery felt light.
When the plates were cleared, Oakley nudged her hand. "Don't forget this, Ave. You're not leaving us. You're just… taking a detour. We'll still be here. Lake café and all."
She smiled faintly. "I'll hold you to that."
The drive back was quieter, but not heavy. Avery looked out the window, the lake fading into the rearview, and thought: two weeks left. And maybe, just maybe, she could survive them.
***
Bali wasn't Jakarta. The air itself felt different and saltier, freer, even when the humidity stuck to her skin. Kara told herself this was her reset. Jimbaran was quiet compared to home, her guest house tucked just five minutes from campus, where scooters hummed instead of traffic horns.
She was still learning the rhythm of it all when she met Benji.
It started with group assignments, names scribbled together on a class list and somehow it spilled into coffee after lectures. Then another café the next day. Then a bar where the music was too loud but the laughter easy.
Benji was easy, too. Too easy.
"You don't talk much," he teased one evening, slouched in his chair at a beachside café, stirring his iced latte.
Kara smirked, leaning back. "Maybe I just don't have anything to say."
He grinned. "Or maybe you're shy."
The way he looked at her lingered too long. Kara brushed it off. She was used to eyes on her, used to carrying herself like she had something to prove. But Benji's gaze was sharper, edged with something she didn't want to name.
When her guest house had a power issue a week later one of the electric cables loose he showed up uninvited, sleeves rolled, grin plastered.
"You'd burn this place down without me," he joked, fiddling with the wires.
"I could've called the landlord," Kara said, arms crossed, though she didn't stop him.
"Yeah, but then you wouldn't owe me coffee."
Kara rolled her eyes, but a part of her smiled. She was trying to fit in, wasn't she?
Still, the warning bells rang louder a few nights later when his text popped up out of nowhere: come to my room. Let's drink.
She almost ignored it. Almost. But curiosity or maybe the ache of loneliness dragged her to the dorms.
His room smelled faintly of cologne and beer. A couple of bottles sat open on the desk, music low in the background.
"Finally," Benji said, handing her a glass. "You're too serious all the time. Loosen up."
Kara took a cautious sip, her throat burning. "You're ridiculous."
He laughed, sitting closer than necessary. Their shoulders brushed. Then, too quickly, his arm slid around her.
"Kara," he murmured, leaning in, "you don't have to be so tense."
Her stomach flipped. For a split second, Willow's face flickered in her mind the way her laughter used to curl in Kara's chest, how real it had felt.
"Don't." Kara pushed at his chest, firm. She stood, heart pounding, voice sharper than she intended. "Don't do that."
Benji blinked, caught off guard. "Hey, I was just.."
"No." Her jaw clenched. "I'm not here for this."
She turned on her sneaker, grabbing her bag, the cool night air slamming against her as she stepped outside. Her scooter roared to life under trembling fingers, the ride back to her guest house blurring past neon signs and shuttered shops.
Back in her room, Kara locked the door and collapsed on the bed.
For the first time since arriving in Bali, she felt the sting of just how alone she really was.
***
The office hummed with the low static of keyboards, printers, and half-suppressed sighs. Avery sat hunched at her desk, screen crowded with spreadsheets, a hand pressed to her temple. Her right wrist ached from scrolling, copy-pasting, double-checking, then cross-referencing again.
She had promised herself she'd keep her handover simple—clean, organized, airtight. Oakley would take her portfolio after she left, and Avery wanted to leave no mess behind.
But her boss had other plans.
"Avery," Ms. Nadya called from her glass-walled office. "I need you to prepare the vendor reconciliation for this quarter. Before Friday."
Avery's head snapped up. "But… I'm already finalizing the event pipeline and the leasing data—"
"I know. But you're still here. You can manage it." Nadya's smile was brisk, already moving on to another email.
Avery bit down on her tongue. Manage it. That phrase had become her whole life—managing tasks, managing scars, managing the silence Phoebe had left behind.
By lunch, her desk was a battlefield. Oakley plopped into the chair beside her, shaking his head at the mountain of files.
"You're not handing over, Ave," he muttered. "You're killing yourself."
Archie leaned over from the other side, tapping his pen against her keyboard. "He's right. This isn't a farewell—it's a marathon. And you're the only runner."
Avery forced a thin smile. "I just… want to leave it right."
Archie's eyes narrowed. "Or maybe you don't want to think about anything else."
That hit closer than she expected. Avery looked down, lips pressing tight.
Oakley exchanged a look with Archie, then said gently, "Phoebe's not here, Ave. But you're acting like she's gonna walk in and grade your spreadsheets."
Her throat caught. She hated how easily they saw through her.
Archie leaned in, lowering his voice. "You know what you need? A distraction. Download a dating app. Talk to someone who doesn't know about contracts and handovers and—" he paused, watching her face, "Phoebe."
Avery laughed bitterly. "A dating app? Archie, I barely remember to eat lunch."
"All the more reason," Archie shot back. "Someone new might remind you you're alive. You deserve that."
Oakley nodded, supportive but softer. "Doesn't have to be serious. Just… someone to talk to. Someone who'll ask how your day is and actually want the answer."
Avery looked between them, torn between exasperation and the aching hollowness in her chest. "You two really think I'm ready to swipe right on strangers?"
Archie smirked. "Not strangers. Potential therapy with faces."
She rolled her eyes, but the thought lingered.
Two days later, Avery lay sprawled on her bed, laptop closed for once, her phone glowing in the dark. She scrolled through Instagram, thumb mindlessly flicking past strangers' dinners and sunsets until Phoebe's name appeared.
The post was simple: Jakarta skyline, captioned with a heart emoji.
Avery froze. Her thumb hovered over the screen, itching to double-tap, aching to type something, anything. But she pulled away, dropped the phone onto her chest.
Her chest tightened. She couldn't keep refreshing, couldn't keep waiting for a sign that wasn't coming back.
The silence of the room pressed heavy. She rolled onto her side, unlocked her phone again, and opened the App Store. Her fingers trembled as she typed the word: dating.
The glowing icons filled the screen.
Her breath caught. One swipe could mean a new distraction. A new face. A new way to stop bleeding over someone who had already walked away.
She whispered into the empty dark, "Maybe it's time. Maybe I need… someone new. Someone to talk to."
Her thumb pressed install.
The blue bar filled. A spark of guilt flickered but also a pulse of relief.
And Avery didn't know, couldn't know, that this wasn't just another app. This was the start of her first Summer experience, the season that would reshape her life in ways she couldn't yet imagine.