Tzuyu
The girls moved through the familiar bamboo grove, their footsteps light on the damp forest floor. They’d come to call this place the bamboo heaven, and with good reason—it was a small paradise of tall, sturdy poles that had proven invaluable for their survival on the island. They'd found it a few days back, and since then, they’d come everyday.
Tzuyu wiped a bead of sweat from her eyebrow, gripping the handle of the blade Jeongyeon had made a little tighter. The sounds around her blended together—the rhythmic thud of Jeongyeon’s knife against the stalks, the rustling leaves, the distant cries of birds. It was too much at times, a muffled wave pressing against her ears, filling her head with static. She kept her mouth shut, focusing on the motions instead—cut, toss the stalk aside, repeat.
The repetition helped, something she could control.
Jeongyeon exhaled sharply as she pulled back her blade. Pulling Tzuyu out of her thoughts, “Let’s take as much as we can carry this time. We’ll need it."
Chaeyoung let out a breath, squinting up at the sun. "Think we could make something better than just shelter walls? Maybe a little extra support or even some kind of seating? We’re out here surviving—doesn’t mean we can’t be comfortable,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of humor.
Jeongyeon smirked, shaking her head as she tossed a freshly cut stalk onto the pile. "You’re already thinking about furniture? We’re barely making it through the nights as it is."
Chaeyoung shrugged. "Hey, gotta do something to stay sane."
Tzuyu didn't answer, just kept cutting, letting the weight of the stalks settle in her hands before throwing them into the growing pile. The conversation buzzed around her, background noise, but she let it pass. Talking took effort. Working was simpler. She could feel Jeongyeon glance her way, maybe noticing how she’d been quiet, but she didn’t comment on it, and Tzuyu was grateful for that.
Chaeyoung sighed, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. “Feels like we’ve been here forever already. But... this helps. Gives us something to focus on. A distraction.”
She glanced down at her hands, a small cut from the day before already healing... yeah, a distraction.
"We’ll get what we can carry and head back," Jeongyeon finally said, wiping her brow. "Don’t want to stay out too long."
Tzuyu nodded, her muscles already burning from the weight of the cut poles. The heaviness felt good, real. She focused on that, on the pressure in her arms, on the steady movements that kept her mind from spiraling.
It was easier that way.
They finished faster than expected, their movements more efficient now that they knew the grove well. Jeongyeon hefted the largest pieces onto her shoulder, adjusting her grip. “Alright, I think we’re at our limit,” she said after a moment, her voice tight from exertion. “Let’s go.”
Chaeyoung rolled her shoulders, shifting the bamboo in her arms. “Think we’ll have enough?”
Tzuyu didn’t answer right away. She was listening—to the sound of the wind, the snaps of the trees, the crunch of their footsteps on damp earth. It all blended together, layering over their conversation, pulling at her focus. She exhaled again, readjusting her grip, “Do you think Jihyo’s team... do you think they’re doing alright?”
Jeongyeon glanced at her. “They should be fine. She’s good at making sure everything gets done, even from the sidelines. And they know she needs to rest.”
Tzuyu gave another small nod but didn’t respond. The weight of the bamboo in her arms, the uneven ground beneath her feet—those things felt more immediate, more manageable than words. She focused on the rhythm of walking, the shifting balance with each step.
Chaeyoung huffed out a tired laugh. “Didn’t think I’d be hauling bamboo across an island like this a week ago.”
Jeongyeon smirked. “Yeah, well. Survival’s weird like that.”
Tzuyu kept her eyes on the trail ahead, watching the sand mix with the grass, feeling the textures shift beneath her feet. She wasn’t sure if she was tired or just overwhelmed.
Maybe both.
Chaeyoung sighed. “At least it keeps us busy.”
Jeongyeon nodded. “Yeah. Keeps us moving.”
Tzuyu shifted the stalks in her arms again, her fingers tightening around the stalks. That was something she understood. Moving. Keeping busy. Not overthinking too much. She let the conversation drift away, her focus narrowing to the weight in her hands and the steady path back to the shore.
They were following the light marks Chaeyoung had carved into the trees to guide them. Each small scrape in the bark felt like an anchor, a sign that they weren’t truly lost. They were making their way back...home?
The thought echoed in Tzuyu’s mind. Back to shore. She couldn’t quite call it home yet, but it was where the rest waited for them, where they had each other, and that counted for something. Made it feel close and safe.
The shade of the trees provided brief relief from the heat, though the sun still managed to slip through in places, painting the ground in patches of gold.
She could see the light sunburns, the tans... she could see the sun reflect from the sweat that clung to their backs, to their muscles in their arms as they held the bamboo in their shoulders. It was small details like this that kept her mind occupied, something to focus on amid the overwhelming sounds of everything in between.
A branch brushed against her leg then, rough against her skin, and she tensed for a second, her grip instinctively tightening on the bamboo she carried. The texture, the unexpected contact—it sent a small ripple of unease through her, but she forced herself to exhale, to let the sensation pass without reaction. It was just a branch. Just the forest shifting around them as they moved.
She felt the warmth but couldn’t help but think of the others by the shore, especially Dahyun, whose fishing team spent most of the day in the unforgiving sun.
The idea of standing in one place for hours, with the heat pressing down and the unpredictability of waiting—it made her stomach twist. She admired Dahyun for it, for the patience it took to stand there, waiting for a catch. Tzuyu knew she could never do it—didn’t have the heart to kill a fish, let alone clean and prepare it.
As she walked behind Jeongyeon and Chaeyoung, her mind drifted. She thought of all the times Dahyun had been there for her, with a gentle hand or a quiet word on a hard day.
A memory surfaced—morning light in Korea, a slow, peaceful walk with Dahyun that seemed a world away from the endless struggle they faced now. The contrast was sharp, almost disorienting. She let herself hold onto it for a moment longer, just remembering...
It was an early morning, the kind that carried a lingering chill in the air, the kind of quiet that meant the world was still waking up.
Tzuyu walked at a steady pace, the rhythm of her steps in sync with the light patter of paws against the pavement. She held two leashes in her hands, her dogs walking ahead, their tails swaying as they eagerly sniffed along the sidewalk. Beside her, Dahyun walked with an easy stride, her own dog bounding a few steps ahead before circling back, ears perked, tail wagging.
She stopped for a second, watching as her dogs stopped again to investigate a particularly fascinating patch of grass. “I think they’ve smelled every inch of this neighborhood,” she muttered, shaking her head as they looped back to the same spot for the third time.
Dahyun chuckled, giving her dog a gentle pat. “Mine thinks he’s on patrol duty, like he owns the place.” She glanced at Tzuyu with a grin. “Maybe yours just wants to doublecheck. You know, make sure no one’s messed with anything overnight.”
They laughed and walked in a comfortable silence for a while, the stillness of the morning wrapping around them. A car passed in the distance, and the sound of its tires against the road barely registering in Tzuyu’s mind. The motion of their steps, the occasional jingle of a collar, the crisp air—it was grounding in a way that she found hard to put into words.
“Thanks for coming,” Tzuyu said suddenly, her voice quieter than she expected.
Dahyun looked her way with one brow raised. “What do you mean? I love these walks.” She looked forward again, taking a breath. “It’s a nice way to start the day. No rush, no noise. Just us and the dogs.”
“Yeah. It’s... peaceful.” She hesitated before adding, “Sometimes, it feels like these are the only moments where things actually make sense.”
“Life gets loud sometimes. But having someone to walk with makes it better, even if we’re just wandering around.”
Tzuyu let her gaze flicker toward her, a smile tugging at her lips. “You always know what to say.”
Dahyun shrugged with a playful tilt of her head. “It’s not hard when I’m with you.”
They continued their way with unhurried steps, their dogs tugging them along different paths but always circling back, as if instinctively knowing to stay close.
The world around them felt open like it belonged only to them.
“Ever thought about moving somewhere quieter?” She asked.
Dahyun chuckled. “Sometimes. Somewhere near the ocean or the mountains... Just peaceful, you know? A place where I can actually hear myself think.” She bounced the question back. “What about you? If you could live anywhere, where would it be?”
Tzuyu thought for a moment, really thinking her answer through. “Somewhere with a big garden. Somewhere they can run free. Somewhere I can just... be.”
“That sounds perfect. I’d visit all the time, just so you know. You wouldn’t be able to get rid of me.”
Tzuyu laughed under her breath, warmth blooming in her chest. “I wouldn’t want to.”
Dahyun’s smile softened as she reached out, giving Tzuyu’s arm a small squeeze. “You know, Tzu... you don’t have to worry about the future so much. You’re doing just fine.”
Tzuyu glanced down, the weight in her chest easing just a little. “Thanks I,” she murmured. “I know it sounds silly, but... it’s nice to hear that.”
Dahyun shook her head. "It’s not silly. We all need to hear it out loud sometimes.” She met Tzuyu’s eyes. "And besides, I meant every word.”
“Everything alright back there?” Jeongyeon’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, and Tzuyu blinked, realizing she had slowed her pace.
Walking this path now, surrounded by towering bamboo, Tzuyu couldn’t help but think back to that day. The contrast between then and now felt so... cruel.
She’d been at peace then, secure in the knowledge that, no matter how overwhelming life became, she had people beside her who understood. But here, now, on this island, that same truth twisted inside her. She was grateful—so incredibly grateful—that she wasn’t alone. But at the same time, that gratitude sat heavy in her chest, laced and transformed into guilt.
Because they were here too. They were suffering too.
She didn’t know what would be worse—being completely alone or knowing that the people she cared about so much were stuck in the same nightmare as her.
“Not really,” she admitted. “I just keep thinking... I like having you guys here, but I hate that it means you’re stuck too.”
Jeongyeon turned then, slightly, adjusting the weight on her shoulder. “Tzuyu...” she started, her voice careful but unable to finish.
Chaeyoung glanced back as well, understanding what the moment carried. “That’s not on you,” she said simply. “We all got into this.”
“I know. But sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t be glad about that. I should want you somewhere safe. I should want to be the only one dealing with this.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the rustling leaves, the distant call of birds, the wind on their face.
Then Jeongyeon sighed. “We don’t get to choose where we are, but we do get to choose what we do with it. And I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else just worrying about you.”
“It’s not like being alone would make this any easier.” Chaeyoung said, “If anything, it’d be worse.”
Tzuyu swallowed, looking at them both. The guilt didn’t vanish, but it settled. It made her breath a little easier.
Jeongyeon nudged her lightly with her elbow. “Don’t overthink it, Tzu. We’re here. That’s all there is to it.”
Chaeyoung huffed a laugh. “And we still have to make it back without collapsing under all this bamboo, so let’s focus on that first.”
Tzuyu didn’t laugh, but something loosened in her chest and in her mind. She nodded, gripping the poless tighter. The path stretched ahead, and they walked together, carrying the weight of survival between them, evenly shared.
/////////
The sun bore down on them as they finally reached the shore, their bodies aching, their arms raw from carrying bamboo and coconuts from deep within the island. They let their loads drop beside the fire, its steady flickering the only thing that hadn’t changed since Nayeon restarted it that morning.
They’d made a few trips back and forth today, each one harder than the last. They didn’t have any more water, hadn’t had any since yesterday, and so they relied entirely on the coconuts they’d found deeper inland. Each one was heavy to carry, almost as tiring as the bamboo itself, but they needed it to stay hydrated and to keep their spirits up. There was still a small pile of them stored inside the first shelter they built—the tiny one, the barely holding structure that now served mostly as storage.
Tzuyu exhaled, flexing her sore fingers as she stared at the flames. It twisted and devoured whatever they fed it, and she wondered—wasn’t hope the same?
It only lasted as long as there was something left to fuel it, something left to throw. But what happened when there was nothing left to burn?
She sat in the sand, her breath shallow from exhaustion, taking in the sight of the others. They were all drained, their bodies bruised, their skin raw from the salt the sun and the sand. Every step, every effort was taking its toll. Their hunger was constant now, a dull ache beneath their ribs, and the thought of survival pressed down heavier with each passing day.
It had been over a week now. No food but fish, no fresh water except for the coconuts that were growing harder to find...
No sign of rescue.
Mina wordlessly passed her a cracked coconut. Tzuyu took it and drank slowly to savor it, but the liquid barely soothed her parched throat.
It wasn’t enough. None of it was ever enough.
She looked at Nayeon who sat cross-legged a few feet away, scraping the husks of empty coconuts with their blades, trying to salvage anything edible. Her hands were blistered, her motions slower than before.
“We’ll need more by tomorrow,” Nayeon muttered. “We’re running through them faster than I thought.”
Jihyo, winced as she moved to her side nodding. “Jeong’s team said they’ll go inland again tomorrow. They’ll need to check the palm trees further in.”
Jeongyeon tossed a stick into the fire, watching the sparks fly. “They’re still looking for us.” It startled them all how out of nowhere the thought had come. She didn’t word it as a question, and it didn’t feel like an answer either.
Dahyun hugged her knees to her chest. “It’s been over a week.” Her voice sounded so small it broke something inside her.
Sana exhaled through her nose. “They wouldn’t just stop looking... right?”
“If they were close, we’d have seen something by now.”
Nayeon’s hands stilled over the husks, her fingers tightening not letting the conversation take this dark of a turn. “We don’t know that.”
Mina glanced at the fire, she had barely said a word at all, and yet she asked, “How long do searches usually last?”
The question sat heavy between them as no one answered. Nobody knew how.
“It doesn’t matter. We keep going, no matter what.” Jihyo said.
“And what if it’s not enough?”
The fire crackled, filling the silence.
No one responded.
But after a long beat, finally, Jeongyeon let out a dry chuckle. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing—when we get out of here, I’m never drinking coconut water again.”
Sana let out a tired laugh at that, shaking her head. “I don’t know, you might miss it. Think about how much of it we’re drinking for free.”
“Yeah, real luxury,” Chaeyoung muttered. “Maybe we can start a spa. Sand scrubs, coconut water cleanses—”
“Sign me up,” Nayeon deadpanned. “We just need to find someone willing to pay for a fullbody exfoliation using nothing but saltwater and desperation.”
Jihyo cracked a grin, shaking her head.
And Tzuyu listened, the teasing washing over her like the waves. It was their way of coping, of filling the space where fear wanted to settle. She didn’t join in, but she didn’t mind listening. It was... nice. Familiar.
Her gaze drifted back to the fire, watching the embers pulse beneath the wood, clinging to whatever heat remained. It was holding on. Just like them. But even fires died if, well... as soon as the rain fell.
/////////
She sat cross legged on the cold sand inside the cave, her head resting against the rough stone wall. She felt everything press down on her harder than before, heavier than usual. She’d spent the last few days telling herself they’d get through this, that rescue was coming. But now, in the quiet, the strength she had built around herself felt so... paper thin, so brittle. She hadn’t wanted to worry anyone, so she’d brushed it off, claiming a headache when she slipped away from the others.
But she should’ve known Dahyun would see right through it.
She heard the soft crunch of footsteps approaching and turned just as Dahyun stepped inside. She didn’t say anything, didn’t try to force a conversation. She just sat beside Tzuyu, close but not intrusive, their shoulders barely touching. They watched the distant waves together, the silence settling between them like something fragile but necessary.
But after a while and without saying a word, Dahyun reached over, slipping her fingers around Tzuyu’s hand in a firm, steady grip. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. Tzuyu felt a tear slip down her cheek, her breath catching. Dahyun’s fingers tightened slightly, grounding her. I’m here. That’s all it meant. That’s all it needed to mean.
Tzuyu exhaled shakily, her voice quiet. “Thanks for understanding when I... Well, when I need a moment like this.”
“You don’t ever have to thank me for that. I’m just here, however you need me to be.”
Tzuyu swallowed, staring down at their joined hands. “I just... I know you do a lot for everyone. For me. I don’t think I say it enough, but I notice it.” She hesitated, her chest tightening. “Especially after I told you. About my... my—”
“Tzuyu,” she said, voice even, steady as she turned to look at her. “I don’t see you any differently. That didn’t change anything for me, you know that, right?”
Tzuyu glanced away, chewing on her lip. “I was scared it would. That you’d start treating me differently. Like I was breakable or fragile.”
Dahyun scoffed lightly, squeezing her hand. “You? Breakable?” She shook her head. “Tzuyu, I’ve seen you push through things that would’ve knocked anyone else down. You’re one of the strongest people I know.” She paused for a moment, “You’re... you. Just Tzuyu. And I love you for exactly who you are.”
Tzuyu blinked as her throat tightened. The words settling inher chest, deep and real into her heart, filling a space she hadn’t realized was empty. “I don’t always feel strong.”
“That’s okay,” Dahyun said. “Even strong people get tired.”
She let out a slow breath, nodding. For a moment, she let herself lean into Dahyun, just a little, just enough to feel the warmth that always seemed to ooze out of her. Just sitting there, letting the sound of everything else fill the space between them.
Dahyun gave her hand one last squeeze before letting go, stretching her legs out in front of her. “We should get some rest soon.”
Tzuyu hummed in agreement, but her gaze stayed on the horizon. The ocean stretched out before them, endless and unknown. The fear of what was ahead still lingered, but here, in this moment, with Dahyun beside her, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to carry it alone.
She was ready to leave but she also wanted the moment to last longer so she hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of a smooth stone beside her before starting again. “I think...” she started, then stopped, searching for the right words. “I think I’ve always felt something different with you. Not in a bad way, just... something I don’t feel with anyone else.”
Dahyun glanced at her, curiosity flickering in her expression. “What do you mean?”
“It’s like... when things get overwhelming, when everything feels too loud or too much, being around you makes it easier. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like—like things slow down.” She paused, picking at the hem of her shorts. “Like I can breathe again.”
“I get that. It’s kind of the same for me.” She looked down at their hands, where their fingers brushed in the sand. “With you, I don’t have to try so hard to be okay. I can just... exist.”
The words settled between them, unspoken meaning threading through the silence. Tzuyu felt it again, that something twist and turn in her chest—not painful, but deep, something unnamed that made her fingers curl slightly against Dahyun’s. It was warm and sweet but also something fragile, something that almost made her afraid to hold on too tightly.
She wasn’t sure what it meant. She only knew she wanted it to last.
“Thank you,” she said again, voice barely above a whisper. “For always being here.”
Dahyun squeezed her hand once before letting go, her voice quiet but sure. “Always.”
The silence stretched between them, not awkward, just full—of things they weren’t saying, of emotions they didn’t yet have names for. The waves rolled in, steady and endless, and for the first time in a long time, Tzuyu felt anchored. Not because the world had suddenly made sense, not because she had the answers, but because she wasn’t alone in the uncertainty.
She still sat with her back against the rough stone wall, but her knees were pulled up now, arms wrapped loosely around them. The days stretched longer, hope grew thinner, and the ache of missing home never really went away. She had kept it together as best as she could, but here, in the quiet and in this moment, there was nothing to distract her from the thoughts she had been pushing down.
An Dahyun was just there keeping her company, not pushing or rushing her in any way.
“Sometimes...” she said, “Sometimes I feel like I’m mourning everything all at once. My family, my friends, even my dogs. And... the life I thought I’d have.” She swallowed, staring out of the cave. “I just... I just want them to know I’m okay. I want to somehow tell them that we’re getting through this, that we’re doing the best we can. That we’re still fighting.”
She kept going, everything that had piled up finally coming out of her.
“I think about my mom... and my dad. I can picture them, so clearly, just... broken. Wondering if I’m... if I’m even alive. And all I want is to reach out and tell them that I’m fine, that I can get through this. I just wish there was a way to give them that, to give them some peace.”
Dahyun was quiet for a long moment before she spoke. “I think about that too,” she admitted. “I think about my parents seeing the news, not knowing where I am, wondering if I’m...” She didn’t finish the sentence, she didn’t have to because Tzuyu understood. “I know it’s hard, but I think if they could see us now... they’d be proud. We’re surviving, Tzu. We’re doing everything we can.”
Tzuyu nodded, but the ache in her chest didn’t lessen. “It’s not just my family I miss,” she murmured. “It’s... everything I never got to do.”
“Like what?”
Tzuyu let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “It’s stupid.”
Dahyun nudged her lightly. “Try me.”
“I never got to travel alone. I wanted to. Just once. No schedule, no cameras, just... freedom.” She paused, like she was giving away her hidden secrets. “And I’ve never been to a festival just for fun. Not one where I could just stand in the crowd, scream lyrics, and feel like part of something. I mean, it doesn’t sound appealing but still, I wanted to try a bit of everything to really know.” She picked at a loose thread on her shorts, then, quieter, admitted, “I’ve never even really dated anyone.”
Dahyun tilted her head, intrigued but not pushing.
Tzuyu felt her cheeks warming. “I’ve never even had a real kiss.”
The words felt heavier than she expected. She had never thought much about it before—not in the way that mattered. But now, sitting here with Dahyun, the confession felt intentional in a way she wasn’t sure she understood.
Dahyun studied her, her expression unreadable. Then, with a softness in her voice shed never heard before, she asked, “Tzu... Would it be okay... if I kissed you?”
Her breath hitched. She turned to Dahyun, their eyes meeting, searching. There was no teasing in her expression, no expectation—just sincerity, a kind of warmth that settled deep in Tzuyu’s chest, terrifying and exhilarating. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she just nodded, slow and sure.
Dahyun leaned in, giving her a moment to change her mind.
Tzuyu didn’t.
And when their lips met, it was everything.
It was soft and tender at first, as if both of them were memorizing the moment, committing it to something deeper than memory. Tzuyu felt the warmth of Dahyun’s hand as it came up to cradle her cheek, her fingers light and steady. A shiver ran down her spine, not from the cold, but from the way everything else seemed to fall away—the fear, the hunger, the uncertainty. In this moment, there was only this.
Only Dahyun.
The kiss lingered, sweet and unhurried, and when they finally parted, Tzuyu exhaled the breath she didn’t know she was holding, her heart still fluttering, her fingers trembling slightly where they rested against Dahyun’s neck.
Dahyun smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair out of the way. “Well,” she murmured, “you can cross that off your list.”
Tzuyu let out a laugh, something small but real, something that didn’t feel forced. She wasn’t sure what this meant—what they meant—but as of now, she didn’t need to. She just knew that this moment, this feeling, was something she wanted to hold onto for as long as she could.
She couldn’t help herself, waiting only a second before leaning in again, pressing another small grateful kiss to Dahyun’s lips. It was brief, barely there, but it felt like a promise pressed between the two.
She looked into Dahyun’s eyes, seeing the same warmth, the same soft affection reflected back at her.
Dahyun didn’t say anything, just let their foreheads rest together for a second longer before she pulled Tzuyu into her, sharing a hug long overdue.
She moved her head to rest against Dahyun’s shoulder then, her fingers touching the sunburnt skin of her back. The waves kept crashing outside, the wind still whistled through the cave, but everything felt just a little quieter now. Peaceful in her head.
/////////
The scene ahead looked almost normal—some of the girls wading in the shallows, their movements light, their laughter mixing with the steady rhythm of the ocean. Others sat near Jihyo, hands busy, voices low as they worked on small tasks to keep themselves occupied.
Tzuyu glanced at Dahyun just before they reached the group, giving her hand one last squeeze before letting go. They didn’t speak about the kiss. There was no need to. It lingered in the space between them, understood without being defined, a memory neither of them wanted to disturb just yet. She would ask her some other time. Labels could wait a little longer in her mind.
Chaeyoung looked up as they approached, a calm smile on her face. She was sitting beside Mina, both of them focused on splitting bamboo into thin strands, working quietly and efficiently.
“Hey,” Chaeyoung greeted with a nod. “We’re trying to turn this into something useful. It’s... harder than I thought, but I think it’ll help.”
Mina lifted a thin strand, running her fingers over it to check for weak spots. “If we can weave them tightly enough, we can make bags. It’d be easier to carry things when you go inland again.” She looked better now, keeping her hands moving kept her from thinking too much, from getting stuck in her head.
“Show me?” Tzuyu picked up a piece of bamboo, turning it over in her hands.
Mina leaned closer, demonstrating with her own hands. “Start with a cut along the edge. If you go too fast, it snaps. So don’t rush it.”
Nayeon was nearby, working on another piece of bamboo, frowning as she tried to follow Mina’s example. “I think I’ve got it,” she murmured. A second later, her bamboo split down the middle. She sighed. “Or maybe not.”
“Try smaller movements,” Dahyun said, guiding Nayeon’s hands. “Angle it like this—it’s more about pressure than force.”
Tzuyu watched Dahyun in the soft glow of the afternoon light, the patience in her hands, the ease in her voice. She turned back to her own work, pressing the blade against the pole, trying to focus. But the memory of that moment in the cave, of Dahyun’s lips against hers, was still there, still lingering at the edge of her thoughts.
She could still feel it—the sweetness of it, the heat, the calm. The way Dahyun had looked at her, with so much love, like she had all the time in the world to wait for Tzuyu to make sense of whatever she was feeling.
She swallowed, steadying her grip on the bamboo. She had no answers, no way to put what was happening in her chest into words. But here, now, with the sound of the ocean and the rhythm of their work, she didn’t need to.
After a few minutes, Dahyun looked over at her, catching Tzuyu’s gaze. Neither of them said anything, but there it was, a glint in her eyes. Tzuyu felt her heart quicken, but she returned to her work, content to hold that feeling close to her heart.
/////////
The morning sun hung high as Tzuyu, Chaeyoung, and Jeongyeon made their way deeper inland, their footsteps quiet against the damp earth. They had set out early, hoping to find something—anything—beyond what they already knew. Bamboo and coconuts were essential, but they needed more. Fruit, maybe. If they were lucky, water.
With each step, Tzuyu felt the sweat at her skin, the branches brushing against her arms and legs, leaving faint scratches. The mosquitoes were relentless, a constant hum in her ears, nipping at any exposed skin. She swatted at them, huffing in frustration.
“Next time, I’m wrapping myself in bamboo armor,” she muttered, smacking a particularly aggressive mosquito on her shoulder.
Chaeyoung let out a tired chuckle, glancing back at her. “Not a bad idea. I think they’ve declared an all you can eat buffet on us.”
Jeongyeon grunted as she pushed aside a low hanging branch, only for it to snap back and brush against her face. She sighed, rubbing at her cheek. “I don’t even bother counting how many bites I’ve got anymore. I’m just accepting my fate.”
They moved through the trees, their conversation dipping in and out as they kept their eyes on the landscape. It felt like they had been walking for hours when Chaeyoung suddenly stopped, her hand shooting out to grab Jeongyeon’s arm.
“Wait, look!” she pointed toward a thick cluster of bushes nestled between two trees.
Tzuyu followed her finger and spotted them—berries. Deep red, small, clinging to the branches in tight bunches.
The three of them moved closer, eager to feel and see they were real.
Jeongyeon crouched, plucking one from the branch, rolling it between her fingers. “They look safe,” she said. “Still, we should be careful. No point in getting sick over a handful of berries.”
Tzuyu grabbed one too. “We should take them back first, see if they’re edible there.”
Chaeyoung shrugged out of her shirt, shaking off a few stray leaves before using it as a bag—the ones they were weaving not even close to being done yet— She carefully filled it with berries, tying the sleeves together to keep them from spilling. Now in just her bikini top, she grinned. “Totally worth it if we can actually eat these. We could use something fresh and sweet for once.”
Jeongyeon gave a nod, adjusting her grip on the thick branch she had picked up earlier for support. “Alright, let’s get moving before we get too deep in here.”
They turned, retracing their path—at least, they thought they were. Tzuyu glanced around, an unsettling feeling creeping into her chest. The fallen tree they passed just minutes ago was suddenly... standing tall. And... where were Chaeyoung’s trail marks?
“Uh... Are we sure this is the way back?” She said.
Chaeyoung slowed, scanning the trees, her brow furrowed. “I think so... I marked every third tree. There should be a cut here.” She stepped toward a nearby trunk, running her fingers over the bark, her frown deepening.
Jeongyeon’s expression hardened as she looked around, her jaw tightening. “Okay. Nobody panic. We just need to go back and retrace our steps.”
But the trees all looked the same, and the path they thought they knew suddenly felt unfamiliar. Thats when it really sank in... The underwhelming feeling of the unknown.
That they were lost.
Her hands shook as they moved again, slower this time, more cautious. Each of them scanning their surroundings, searching for something—anything—that they’d seen before. But every step forward only made the trees feel taller, the plants denser, the silence heavier. The forest stretched endlessly around them, a suffocating maze of green that swallowed up their footprints before they could leave a trail.
Tzuyu swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the hem of her shirt as her heart pounded against her ribs. “Are we... are we lost?” She didn’t have to ask, she knew. But this was her way of making them say it out loud, of making them feel her panic too.
Chaeyoung exhaled sharply, turning in a slow circle as she studied the trees. “I don’t know. I marked the trees, I swear I did, but...” She trailed off, her jaw tightening.
“Okay. We didn’t go that far. We just have to stop and think.” Jeongyeon ran a hand through her hair, her brows creased in focus. “Let’s retrace our steps again.”
Tzuyu’s skin prickled. The fear of their situation pressed down hard now—no clear path, no water, nothing but Chaeyoung’s makeshift bag of berries, and the unsettling realization that they had no idea which way led back.
“What if we don’t make it back?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. They sounded small, but the fear behind them wasn’t.
Jeongyeon shot her a sharp look. “We will.”
Tzuyu wasn’t sure if she believed her.
They started walking again, but it didn’t take long before the doubt crept back in. The trees all looked the same. The path they thought they’d taken twisted in ways that didn’t make sense. It felt like the forest itself was shifting, rearranging, swallowing any trace of the way home.
Chaeyoung came to a sudden stop. “Hold on,” she said, turning and looking over her shoulder, her eyes darting across the trees. “I think we’re... what if we’ve been going in circles?”
She felt her stomach clench. A feeling she’d hated since she was a kid. She didn’t have in her now, to throw up whatever little intake she had, but it felt like she might. Like she would if they didn’t piece everything together soon.
“Then we need to stop. Clear our heads and think.”
Chaeyoung ran a hand over her face, frustration bleeding into her voice. “How are we supposed to think when everything looks the same?”
Jeongyeon didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stared out at the trees, as if willing something to appear, some sign that they weren’t as lost as they felt. But nothing came.
She hated how small she felt in this place. How the sky was barely visible through the leaves, how the shadows seemed to stretch longer with every step. She tried not to think about the fact that the sun was slipping lower, that soon, light wouldn’t be on their side.
Chaeyoung shifted beside her, hugging the bundle of berries against her chest. “We’ve been out here so long... Do you think the others... Do you think they’ll come looking for us?”
“I hope not.”
Chaeyoung blinked. “What?”
Jeongyeon exhaled, shaking her head. “If they come looking for us and get lost too, that’s more of us... Stuck here instead of just three. And if they don’t find us... We know this place better than anyone. They’ll just put themselves in danger if they come.”
Her breath caught as she glanced between them both, waiting for someone to argue, for Chaeyoung to say that, of course, the others would find them, that there was no way they’d just sit back and do nothing. But no one spoke, to tired to continue with the back and forth, besides they all knew the truth.
They were on their own.
/////////
The hours stretched endlessly as they wandered, each step heavier than the last. The forest was unrelenting—each tree, each stretch of overgrown bush blending together into the same suffocating green. Tzuyu’s head ached from the samenesss of it, from the lack of anything to ground herself. There was no pattern, no structure, just an overwhelming flood of details that offered no sense of direction.
Her body ached too. The constant feeling of dampness clung to her skin, sweat mixing with dirt and humidity, the sting of scratches on her legs where sharp branches had caught her. Every brush against her skin sent a sharp jolt through her nerves, an irritation that made her want to stop and press her palms over the spots, to rub at them until the discomfort faded.
Jeongyeon finally slowed, pressing a hand against a tree as she looked around herself. “We need to stop. Just for a second.”
Her feet hurt so much, more than they’d ever had in her life—even with all the dancing and the tours they’d done in the past, this didn’t compare. She didn’t like stopping. It only made the awareness of her exhaustion worse, made the tightness in her body more noticeable. But she complied anyway, lowering herself onto a patch of dirt near Chaeyoung, curling her arms around her knees.
She picked absently at the rough calluses forming on her palms, her fingertips tracing over the dry, irritated patches of skin. A part of her wished she could just disappear into the repetitive motion, into the feeling of something solid and familiar beneath her fingers.
Then, she looked up at the trees, at the tall, thin trunks stretching above them.
“Maybe... Maybe I could climb one. Get us some coconuts. At least we’d have something to drink.”
Jeongyeon straightened, grateful with offer. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice.”
So she pushed herself up, shaking the stiffness from her arms. She paused for a moment before glancing at the other two. “I, um... I haven’t really told the others that the coconuts with water are higher up. That we have to climb to get them.”
Chaeyoung smirked her way, though it looked strained and tired. “Figured they wouldn’t take that news well?”
Tzuyu shrugged. “They’d just worry.”
“We know them too well.”
She approached the nearest one, running her fingers over the bark, pressing her hand against the ridges to steady her grip.
Then she started climbing.
The bark was rough, biting into her hands and the already raw patches on her legs, but she forced herself to ignore it. The repetition helped—hand over hand, foot pushing up, the slow rhythm keeping her mind from spinning too far into the panic of everything else.
It wasn’t that high, yet still, by the time she reached the top, she paused, allowing herself to breathe. She glanced out over the fronds, hoping for something—anything—that would give them a direction. A gap in the trees, a glimpse of the ocean, even just a break in the endless green.
But there was nothing.
Her stomach clenched, and she hated it even more. She stared for a long moment, feeling like something inside her was slipping further away. She had hoped—maybe foolishly—that this would help. That she’d see something familiar, something that could break the illusion that they were completely lost.
She clenched her jaw and focused on the task instead, reaching up to cut a few coconuts loose. They tumbled down, landing with dull thuds below.
Climbing back down was slower. The sharp edges of the bark dug deeper into her skin as she tried to keep her balance, her muscles trembling slightly from the exertion. When she finally reached the ground, her hands stung. She curled them into fists shaking them out, not wanting to look at the blisters and the cuts.
But they were so thirsty the girls didn’t waste any time. Jeongyeon grabbed one of the coconuts and smashed it against a nearby rock until the shell cracked open. She handed it off to Chaeyoung first, who took a long sip before passing it to Tzuyu.
The water wasn’t much, but it was something. She drank it so fast it hurt yet it still soothed her parched throat.
They ate it too, the coconut meat. It was soft and sweet though mild in flavor. She chewed without thinking, her focus still lingering on the emptiness, on all the green she’d seen above.
It struck her then how no one asked if she saw anything useful.
Maybe they already knew the answer.
“We can’t be out here after dark. We don’t know what’s in these woods... we’ve heard the birds... the snaps... There could be other animals too” Jeongyeon said.
Chaeyoung let out a shaky breath, hugging her knees. “I don’t even want to think about that.” She added, “I hate the dark. At least, out here.”
Tzuyu glanced at her, surprised. “I don’t mind it,” she admitted. “It’s nice. A break from the heat.”
Chaeyoung turned to her, disbelief clear on her face. “You like this? The pitch black trees, the weird noises, not knowing what’s watching us?”
Tzuyu shrugged. “The sun is worse.”
Jeongyeon let out a dry chuckle. “Well, it won’t be ‘nice’ for long. We’re sweating now, but give it an hour, and we’ll be freezing.”
Chaeyoung rubbed her arms at the thought, as if the cold had already started to creep in. “That’s not helping, Jeong.”
“I’m just saying,” Jeongyeon replied. “We need to get moving. If we don’t find our way back, it’s not just the dark we have to worry about—it’s the cold, it’s the fact that we have no food, no fire, no way to see what’s around us. If we stop now, it’s gonna be one hell of a night.”
They all fell silent at that—there was so much it nowadays and it unsettled her. The trees around them swayed with the wind, their rustling a constant, eerie reminder of just how isolated they were. How trapped. The ocean still felt impossibly far away.
Tzuyu shifted, rolling her sore shoulders, her arms raw from climbing earlier. “Then let’s keep moving.”
They pushed forward again, each step slower now as they used the last of their energy. Every snapped twig, every rustling leaf made Chaeyoung flinch. The sun started fading in the distance, swallowing the details of the trees around them. Their surroundings blurred together, the once familiar patterns of branches and roots now nothing but a maze of muted green.
Jeongyeon’s voice was quieter now. “I swear we didn’t go that far.”
“Then why do we feel even further?” Chaeyoung muttered.
Tzuyu focused ahead, not sane enough to add to the conversation. She scanned the trees, the ground, anything that might tell them where they were. But the more she looked, the more it all seemed the same. She tried to tune out the noise—the shifting leaves, the buzzing of insects, the occasional distant snap of something moving.
Just keep walking. Keep moving forward.
She was beginning to think they might have to stop for the night, to accept that they weren’t getting back anytime soon, when Chaeyoung suddenly grabbed her wrist.
“Wait.”
She stopped, her heartbeat quickening. Jeongyeon turned, her grip tightening on her walking stick.
Chaeyoung took a slow step forward, eyes narrowing in the dim light. “Do you see that?”
Tzuyu followed her gaze, pulse hammering. Something—just ahead. A shape, a shadow by the tree.
“Is that—?”
No one moved. No one took a breath.
She stood frozen with her pulse hammering in her ears, and just as she willed herself to move—just as she strained to see things clearly—the last sliver of sunlight slipped away. The forest swallowed everything whole, stripping away every shadow, every blur... it left only darkness in its place.