Sana
"Chaeyoung!"
The girls stood at the edge of the tree line, screaming their lungs out until their last breath. Their voices hoarse from shouting into the thick wall of green.
"Jeongyeon!"
Dahyun and Nayeon had been by her side, all three of them calling out their names for what felt like hours, their throats raw, theirs voices cracking with desperation.
"Tzuyu!"
The dense forest swallowed their cries, offering nothing but silence in return.
"Jeongyeon! Chaeyoung! Tzuyu!" Nayeon’s voice broke as she yelled, it came out more like a croak, her voice nearly gone. Her breath hitching as she strained to be heard.
They paused, listening intently, but there was nothing—no answer, no movement, just the oppressive stillness of the trees. And as the sun dipped lower, every shadow became longer, every tree became darker, like forest was closing in on them.
Nayeon lowered her hands, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "They can’t hear us," she whispered, her voice barely audible now. “They’re too far."
Dahyun wiped at her eyes, her face flushed from both effort and panic. "They should’ve been here by now," she muttered, her voice trembling.
Sana felt a surge of... helplessness. It washed over her. She couldn’t stand the waiting, the uncertainty gnawing at her from the inside out. Without thinking, she turned back toward the camp, her feet moving before her mind could catch up.
They returned to the fire, the others waiting sitting as a tight circle around the flickering flames, their faces long, their eyes just as lost as theirs.
Jihyo sat slightly apart with her injured knee stretched out in front of her, a deep furrow between her brows.
"They’ve been gone too long," Sana blurted out, her voice sharp with anxiety. She paced back and forth, her hands clenching at her sides. "I’m going in. I’m looking for them. I can’t just stay here."
"Sana, no!" Jihyo’s voice cut through the tense air like a blade. She pushed herself to stand, a grimace flashing across her face as pain shot through her wound, her knee wobbling. She swayed slightly but didn’t back down. She faced Sana head-on, her eyes fierce despite the tears that gathered there.
"We’re not going after them," Jihyo said firmly, her voice brookking no argument. She scanned the circle, making sure each girl understood. "None of us are going in there."
Sana’s chest heaved as she took a step closer. "They’re out there, Jihyo! What if they’re hurt? What if they need us?"
Jihyo’s eyes softened for a heartbeat, her voice dropping as desperation crept into her tone. "Sana, I... If we go in there and something happens to us, then what? We can’t risk all of us being lost. I... We have to trust them. They’re smart, they’ll find a way back. But if we go in blind, we might never find any of them. Don’t make this harder."
"I don’t care if it’s just me," Sana snapped, her voice rising with desperation. "I’m going in there."
"No, you’re not." Jihyo’s tone was steely, her authority unshaken. As Sana tried to push past her, Jihyo reached out, grabbing Sana’s wrist in a firm grip. The sudden contact startled Sana, making her pause.
"Let go," Sana hissed, but Jihyo didn’t budge.
"Not until you calm down," Jihyo shot back, her voice quieter but no less intense. "We’re scared too, Sana. But running into the dark won’t help them—it’ll only make things worse."
The tension crackled in the air, heavier than the fire’s warmth. Sana’s fists trembled at her sides, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the crackle of the flames. She could see it in Jihyo’s face—the same fear, the same helplessness—but also the weight of responsibility, the burden of keeping them all safe.
Her fear of loosing them was all consuming, but somehow—finally—her shoulders sagged, the fight draining from her as she sank back onto the log. Jihyo released her wrist slowly, her gaze lingering on Sana’s face.
Jihyo turned to sit back down, Nayeon and Mina rushing to her side each slipping an arm under hers to help ease her back to the ground. Jihyo winced as her knee protested, even as they helped her settle down more gently, her knee was still in pain.
The night fell quietly around them, stretching heavy and silent, as they just sat there waiting for the girls to return. Every faint rustle from the trees made their heads snap toward the darkness, hearts leaping with false hope, only to sink deeper with each passing second.
Every so often, she’d rise, unable to stay still, and walk toward the tree line, her voice hoarse from calling out.
“Chaeyoung!” she yelled, her throat raw from hours of shouting. “Jeongyeon! Tzuyu!”
But the trees only swallowed her cries, offering nothing in return.
Sana could feel Jihyo’s eyes on her, making sure she wouldnt disappear of her sight, a reminder not to do something reckless. And as much as it frustrated her, as much as she felt trapped by the waiting, Sana knew Jihyo was right. Charging into the forest blindly wouldn’t help—it would only add to their problems. She hadn’t even set foot past the first row of trees since they arrived. How would she even know where to start looking? What path had they taken? Which direction she follow?
Still, the need to do something gnawed at her. She paced, hovering near the edge of the trees, calling out until her voice gave out, only to return to the shelters, sinking into the sand with the others. There was nothing much to do but to sit in silence, ears straining for any sound that might break the oppressive quiet. But even the ocean’s steady rhythm felt like an enemy, its constant roar making it harder to hear anything beyond it.
Her mind wouldn’t stop painting terrible images—Chaeyoung trapped, Jeongyeon injured, Tzuyu lost and alone. She felt tears slip down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting, blurring her vision.
Just to think that she might never see them again, that this could be the end of it...
At some point, her frustration boiled over, her voice cutting through the silence. “If they’re not back by first light, I’m going in.” It hurt her throat to speak, but she wasn’t stopping. “I don’t care what any of you say.”
No one responded, the weight of her words sinking into the already suffocating atmosphere. They all felt it—the fear, the sadness... the grief.
Time felt like it was stretching endlessly, every second an eternity. She hugged her knees to her chest, staring into the shadows, willing something—anything—to happen.
And then, as if listening to her, she heard it.
A faint rustling.
Movement.
The unmistakable sound of footsteps breaking through the dirt.
Sana’s head snapped toward the noise so fast it sent a jolt of pain down her neck. Her heart hammered in her chest, breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t sure if she dared to believe it—if it was real or just her mind playing tricks.
But then she saw them.
Figures emerging from the darkness, stumbling out of the trees. Jeongyeon, Chaeyoung, and Tzuyu. Their faces were pale, their bodies sagging with exhaustion. As soon as their feet touched the sand, they collapsed, falling to the ground as if the weight of the journey had finally caught up with them.
For a moment, Sana couldn’t move. Relief and disbelief tangled in her chest, leaving her frozen. But then the spell broke, and she was on her feet, running toward them, the others right behind her, voices breaking with emotion as they called out their names again—but this time, with joy, with overwhelming relief.
Sana was the first to reach them, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from her chest. Her legs felt weak, but she pushed forward, her fear and relief blending into something overwhelming. She reached for Jeongyeon first, her hands trembling as she gripped her shoulders, needing to feel that she was real, that they were all real.
“What the hell happened?” Sana’s voice cracked, her throat still raw from hours of shouting into the trees. Her eyes darted between their exhausted faces, searching for any signs of injury. “We thought... we thought...” But the words got stuck in her throat, the weight of the worst-case scenarios she’d imagined pressing down on her.
Jeongyeon gave her a tired smile, trying to ease the tension. “We’re okay. We just... got turned around.”
But that wasn’t enough for Sana. She needed more than that. She needed to know they hadn’t been hurt, hadn’t suffered in ways they couldn’t see. Her hands moved from Jeongyeon to Chaeyoung, pulling her into a hug that was almost too tight, like she was afraid Chaeyoung might disappear if she let go.
Chaeyoung tried to joke, lifting her shirt filled with berries. “Hey, look! We found these. Maybe they’re safe to eat?”
But Sana barely heard her. “I don’t care about the damn berries,” she said, pulling back just enough to see Chaeyoung’s face. “Don’t ever do that again. Don’t ever scare me like that.”
Nayeon was clutching Jeongyeon’s arm, her usual composure. “You should’ve been back hours ago. We thought you...” She couldn’t finish the sentence, and Jeongyeon just pulled her in closer.
Dahyun was already by Tzuyu’s side, practically folding herself into the girls´ arms, holding on like she might never let go. Sana watched them, her chest tightening at the sight—the raw, unfiltered relief in Dahyun’s face, the way Tzuyu clung back, as if the weight of her guilt was too much to bear.
Tzuyu’s voice was soft, yet shaky. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into Dahyun’s hair. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
Dahyun pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, her expression fierce and tender all at once. “I was so scared. I... You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
Sana’s gaze drifted to Jihyo, who was struggling to her feet. Nayeon and Mina rushed to her side, supporting her as she limped toward Jeongyeon. The pain was clear in her tight expression, but she didn’t let it stop her. She reached Jeongyeon and wrapped her arms around her tightly, as if needing to feel the reassurance herself.
“We’re fine,” Jeongyeon murmured, rubbing Jihyo’s back. “It was just... a mistake.”
Jihyo held on a moment longer, then pulled back, her eyes glassy but resolute. “Just don’t do it again. Please.”
Sana felt her legs finally give way, and she sank to the sand, the adrenaline that kept her going all day draining from her body. She watched as the others gathered around, their voices low, as if afraid to break the moments peace. But even as the tension eased, Sana couldn’t shake the images that had haunted her—the thought of never seeing them again, of losing them to the dark unknown of the island.
She hugged her knees to her chest, staring into the fire as it crackled and sparked, the shadows dancing across the faces of the people she loved most in the world. They were here. They were safe. But the fear hadn’t left her. It clung to her like a second skin now, a reminder of just how fragile their safety really was.
/////////
Sana sat near the fire, the heat from the flames brushing against her skin, but it barely touched the cold gnawing at her chest. The bottle of alcohol in her hand felt heavier than it should, contradicting somehow.
They were all gathered in a loose circle again, their faces glowing in the firelight, etched with exhaustion and the relief of the night, but it felt like none of them were truly here—not really, not completely.
Her mind kept slipping back to earlier, the memory still raw. But even after they’d collapsed onto the sand, safe, the knot in Sana’s chest refused to loosen.
Once the chaos quieted and everyone was accounted for, Sana had felt... restless. The fear still clung to her, thick and heavy. She couldn’t sit in that silence any longer, couldn’t let the weight of the day settle over them so heavy. So, she’d stood up, her hands wondering and rummaging through the wooden crates, lifting one of the—many—dusty bottles they stored for emergencies.
“Hey,” she’d called out, her voice cutting through the tense hush that had fallen over them. “I know today was... a lot.” She’d glanced around the circle, meeting tired, hollow eyes. “So, what do you say we celebrate? Just for tonight? We’re all here. We’re okay. I think we deserve that.”
There had been a pause—long enough for her heart to pound in her ears—before Momo let out a small, breathy laugh. It was brittle but real. The tension cracked, just a little, and soon enough, the others followed, each grabbing a bottle of their own from the boxes. They’d huddled closer to the fire, letting the first sips of alcohol soften the edges of the day’s fear.
Now, sitting with the bottle warm in her hand, Sana stared into the flickering flames. The light danced across the faces she knew better than her own—faces that had been filled with panic just hours before. She took a slow sip, feeling the burn trail down her throat, then spoke, her voice low but clear.
“I was so scared today,” she admitted, her eyes locked on the fire. The words tasted bitter on her tongue. “When you were gone... it felt like I was losing you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, rough and uneven. “And I don’t think I could... I don’t think I could handle losing any of you.”
The confession hung in the air, shared between them. No one interrupted. They just listened intently as she spoke what was on everyones mind.
“I know we don’t have much left here,” Sana continued. “We don’t have anything, really... But the only thing we really have—the only thing that’s kept us going—is this.” She said as she motioned to the group. “We’re all we have now.”
She paused, swallowing hard. Her eyes swept over the group, meeting each of their gazes, her voice thick with emotion. “We need to stick together. Because if we lose each other... there’s nothing else. Nothing else that matters.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full, packed with unsaid things, shared fears, and a calm sense of agreement. The only sounds were the fire’s soft pop and the ocean’s distant rhythm, like the island itself was holding its breath.
"I... yeah. I feel the same," Nayeon murmured, her words just as fragile as Sana´s. "We’re all we have."
She felt it then, a small, sad smile tug at her lips—not one of joy, but of understanding. She raised her bottle slightly, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. “To being less reckless.”
Jihyo raised her bottle too. “To staying safe.”
One by one, the girls lifted their bottles, their movements slow, deliberate. The soft clink of glass meeting glass felt louder than it should have, echoing in the quiet night. They drank, and for a really small fleeting moment, the warmth in Sana’s chest wasn’t just from the alcohol. It was from them—from the promise they’d all just made, unspoken but solid as the sand beneath their feet.
The fire burned low, but the moon gave them enough light to keep the conversation going. The alcohol had loosened their tongues, and for the first time in days, the heaviness in the air seemed to lift, even if just a little. They started sharing memories—stories of home and moments that now felt like they belonged to someone else.
Momo was retelling an old memory, the same story they heard on every drunk gathering they had.“Remember when we had that shared apartment?” she said, glancing at Nayeon with a crooked grin. “The first one. The one with the broken heater? I swear, every winter we practically turned into popsicles.”
Nayeon’s laugh burst out as if it was the first time she heard it too—a cackle, really—a sound that felt almost foreign after the past week. “Oh, yeah! I used to make Momo boil water just so we could have hot water bottles in bed. I think she threatened to move out at least three times.”
Momo rolled her eyes, pretending to be offended. “I had every right to! And let’s not forget—you’re the one who set off the fire alarm trying to cook ramen that winter.”
“Hey!” Nayeon shot back, grinning. “That was your fault for asking for it in the first place.”
Their laughter rippled through the group, light and infectious. It was the kind of laughter that made Sana’s chest ache—not from sadness, but from the unfamiliar weight of something close to happiness.
Dahyun took a sip of her drink, only to nearly choke when Tzuyu—her cheeks flushed from the alcohol—blurted out an embarrassing story without realizing it. Dahyun spluttered, spitting out her drink as the group erupted into laughter, the sound mingling with the crackle of the fire and the gentle rustle of the leaves as the wind picked up speed.
For a moment—a brief, fragile moment—it felt like they were back home. Safe. Together. The worries of survival faded into the background, replaced by the comfort of shared memories and the tenderness of familiar voices.
But as the night wore on and the laughter slowly faded, the mood shifted. The reality of their situation settled back over them like a thin, inescapable veil. It clouded their eyes, their minds. It had a funny way of souring the mood.
It was Momo again who broke the quiet, although softer this time, laced with something deeper. She glanced at Jihyo, her eyes so devoted and sincere. “I... I just want to thank you,” she said. “For being our rock. I don’t think I could’ve kept it together if you hadn’t been here, holding us steady.”
Jihyo looked down, a modest smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I’m just... we’re all doing what we can.” Her voice was low, but there was a tremor beneath it, a flicker of vulnerability that she rarely let show.
Sana watched her, feeling that surge of gratitude that settled deep in her chest. She remembered then something Jihyo said on the boat, a memory that clung to her in the darkest moments.
Jihyo was standing by the rail, her eyes searching the water, looking for any signs of rescue. “They won’t stop looking for us,” she said, her voice unwavering. “I know it sounds... awful, but our name, our fame—it has to count for something. There are too many people watching, too many eyes on us. They won’t stop. I know that.”
The memory lingere, and Sana had nothing else to do but to hold onto those words. To turn them over in her mind as she stared into the dying fire. She wanted to believe them, needed to believe them. But as the night stretched on and the moon shifted, doubt crept in, quietly taking hold of her every thought.
They had each other—for now, that was enough. But the question lingered... how much longer could they hold on?
“Do you think... do you think they’re still looking for us, alive?” Her words slipped out, slicing through the peace that had settled over them. “It’s been almost two weeks.”
The fire crackled in the heavy silence that followed. The girls exchanged glances, their fears bubbling to the surface. Nayeon stared into the flames, her expression tightening. “I want to believe they are,” she said. “That they haven’t given up on us.”
Jeongyeon let out a slow breath, rubbing her palms against her knees. “I know they’re looking. I can feel it,” she murmured, her voice getting smaller. “It’s just... hard to imagine how long they’ll keep it up.”
Momo shifted, her eyes barely able to land on Jihyo. “We’ve always had people watching,” she said, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head there. “Stuff like that doesn’t just disappear. Right?”
“Our families wouldn’t stop looking.” It was Tzuyu this time, calmer, softer. “Right?”
Jihyo drew a shaky breath, her fingers tracing figures in the sand. “I want to believe that...” she began, her voice calm but tinged with fatigue. “That our name, our status, would keep them searching. But...” She stared into the fire, the flames reflecting in her eyes. “Hope doesn’t last forever.”
Sana felt the shift then. The weight of Jihyo’s words settling over them, heavier than the humid night air. It was hard to know if their fame mattered here, where the island felt like a world of its own.
Dahyun’s voice got carried by the wind. “Even if they stop,” she said, her eyes meeting Sana’s, “We’ll take care of each other.”
Nayeon raised her bottle to her words, the slightest smile tugging at her lips. “To us,” she said. “To not being reckless... and to holding on.”
The toast was bittersweet, laced with so much sadness and stubborn hope. But still they drank, letting it all go.
The conversation deepened even more, each girl peeling back layers of herself, sharing the ache of what they’d left behind, and the dreams that now felt out of reach.
Sana watched them, her eyes moving from face to face. Nayeon was teasing Momo, laughing at her scrunched nose, while Jeongyeon knelt beside Jihyo, adjusting the bandage on her leg with care as she murmured something to her ear.
She couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it.
It was in these small gestures, these fleeting moments, that Sana felt her heart swell—an ache that had been growing steady inside her for as long as she could remember.
She had tucked them away, spent so long trying to keep them hidden, content just to be by their side, to be part of their lives. To just be close enough. But now, after everything they’d been though, with the fear always present and lurking... She couldn’t bear the idea of leaving her love unspoken, not now, not when every day held its own risks.
Each close call, each prolonged silence, made the weight of her unspoken words settle heavier on her chest. It wasn’t just about love—not exactly—but about the depth of connection she felt, something more profound than she could easily explain. It gnawed at her, the idea of never having the chance to voice it, of leaving these thoughts buried if tomorrow never came.
And the more she tried to suppress it, the more she tried to burry them... The more it lingered. It didn’t demand to be said, but it asked to be acknowledged.
She took a deep shaky breath, lifting her bottle and taking a long swig, feeling the burn of the alcohol settle in her chest. It gave her just enough courage to speak, her voice low and raspy, eyes fixed on the sand.
“I... I need to tell you something.”
The conversation around her faltered, the girls turning to look at her, curiosity flickering in their eyes. Still, she pressed on, knowing if she didn’t say it now, she never would.
“Just... let me get this out,” she added quickly, sensing someone about to interject. Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to continue. “I’ve been holding this in for a long time, and I’m scared it’ll come out wrong, but... I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”
She could feel her pulse racing in her throat, her palms damp against the cool glass of the bottle.
“I love you all,” she said, the words tumbling out faster than she intended. “Not just as friends... or family. It’s more than that.” She paused, taking another breath, “It didn’t happen all at once, and I can’t even tell you when it started. But the way you laugh, the way you care... the way you fight for each other... it’s all these little things, and it just... it fills me up.” She didn’t dare to look up, didn’t dare to meet their eyes. “And I just can’t... I couldn’t go another day without you knowing.”
There was a pause. A long one this time, not a sound to be heard around her. Sana’s heart pounded in her ears, and for a moment, she wanted to take it all back—to laugh it off, to say she was just tipsy, just rambling. But she stayed still, her eyes locked on the sand, afraid of what she might see if she met their gazes.
“I... I don’t expect anything. I don’t need anything back,” she whispered, her voice barely audible now. “I just needed you to know. Because it matters to me... to love you like this.”
The silence stretched on, and she didn’t make an effort to lift her head. Shed put it all out there, she just needed to wait. She hadn’t wanted to make things awkward either, hadn’t wanted to put this burden on them—but the truth had been suffocating her, and now that it was out, she felt exposed and at the same time lighter.
When she finally dared to glance up, she saw their faces—soft, thoughtful, and not at all what she expected. No judgment, no discomfort—just... Understanding. It was as if something had shifted in the air, the realization of what her words meant settling into their minds. She waited, her breath catching, wondering what they would say, if they would see her any differently, if they would still let her love them in the quiet way she always had.
She could sense the change in the atmosphere, the subtle glances the girls exchanged—not out of discomfort, but as if they were silently acknowledging something unspoken between them.
A glance from Mina towards Nayeon.
Momo’s eyes, always flickering towards Nayeon when she thought no one was looking.
Jihyo and Jeongyeon leaning into each other’s presence.
Dahyun and Tzuyu sharing their secrets.
Sana had seen it all. These moments that might have seemed insignificant to an outsider... they were everything to her. They painted a picture of how deeply intertwined they all were—a mosaic of love and friendship, layered and complex. It wasn’t about clear lines or labels. Love had never fit neatly into boxes for her—it spilled over, tangled, and touched them all in ways that words could never fully capture.
But Sana didn’t need clarity right now. She didn’t need anyone to return her feelings. She didn’t need promises or declarations, or to make sense of the connections they all shared. It was enough that the truth was no longer a secret lodged in her chest. It was out there now, part of the air they all breathed. That was all she needed—to not carry it alone.
Feeling the emotions settle like dust after a storm, Sana stood, slowly taking her time to pretend to stretch her body. “I... I just need a moment.”
No one stopped her. No one needed to. Their eyes followed her, not with concern or confusion, but with acceptance of everything that was told. She walked away from the firelight, her footsteps sinking into the familiar sand before finding the packed dirt path leading inland—the same trail Chaeyoung, Tzuyu, and Jeongyeon had taken not so long ago. The night was cool against her skin, the contrast to the day’s lingering heat refreshing in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.
She found a fallen tree just off the path, its bark rough and cool under her palms as she sat. The night sounds surrounded her—the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the distant rhythm of the ocean waves crashing against the shore... She inhaled deeply, letting the air fill her lungs, grounding her in the stillness.
She let the weight of everything she’d been holding onto wash over her. The fear, the longing, the overwhelming love—it all rose to the surface, and she let it. Her shoulders shook slightly as a few tears slipped down her cheeks, but she didn’t fight them. They weren’t born from sadness or regret. It was relief, pure and simple—the kind that came from finally letting go of something too heavy to carry alone.
She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, not rushing to compose herself, but savoring the peace that came with the release. The night didn’t feel so suffocating now. It felt expansive, open, like there was room for all of her feelings to exist without being boxed in by her fear.
She heard footsteps behind her, and when she turned, she found Mina walking toward her, her face softened by the moonlight.
Mina didn’t say anything at first—she simply walked over and took a seat next to Sana on the fallen tree. Sana felt her heart skip a beat when Mina reached out, gently taking her hand in hers.
They sat there in quiet night for a moment, letting the sounds of the ocean and the distant crackle of the fire fill in the gaps. Sana could feel Mina’s thumb brushing softly over her knuckles, keeping her present in the moment. The same way she’d done for her just days before.
“Sana, I... What you said back there... I’ve been thinking about...” she paused, letting her thoughts get clear in her head. “About love, about how you feel.” She took a breath, as if searching for the right words. “I guess... I never really let myself think about it that way before.”
Sana stayed quiet, giving Mina the space to continue. She didn’t want to push, didn’t want to rush whatever Mina needed to say.
Mina’s eyes flickered down to their joined hands, holding her tighter. “I used to think love had to be simple. Like, you meet someone, you fall for them, and that’s it. But... it’s not that simple, is it? I mean, here you are... loving us all, loving me. And it makes me think, maybe I buried things I didn’t have to. Maybe I shut down feelings because I thought they didn’t fit the mold of what love was supposed to be.”
She gave a soft, almost self-deprecating laugh. “I felt things too... for the girls, in the past... and now. It’s like my heart didn’t know how to let those feelings breathe.” Mina said, still brushing her fingers, “I had feelings for Nayeon once. And then for Chaeyoung. And I kept telling myself it was just me being confused, that I had to pick one, or that maybe it wasn’t real at all because it didn’t fit into what I thought love should look like.”
Sana felt her chest tighten, not with sadness, but with understanding. She gave Mina’s hand a gentle squeeze back, encouraging her to keep going.
Mina’s gaze lifted, meeting Sana’s with a mix of vulnerability and something else—something softer. “But hearing you talk about how you feel... the way you care for all of us, the way you love us... It made me realize maybe I could feel that way too, if I let myself. Maybe it’s okay to just... feel things. To see where those feelings go.”
Sana’s heart swelled with warmth. She nodded, her voice soft when she finally spoke. “That’s all I ever wanted. Not for anyone to feel like they had to reciprocate, but just... to know that love doesn’t have to fit into one perfect shape. It can expand... grow... be whatever we need it to be. It can be messy and complicated and still be real.”
Mina gave a small, thoughtful smile, her fingers never stopping tracing circles over Sana’s hand. “I don’t know what any of this means, or where it’s going,” she admitted. “But I’m open to finding out. And I’m glad you told me, Sana. It means more than you know.”
They sat in that quiet understanding, the weight of unspoken words lifted, leaving behind a sense of peace. Sana didn’t need anything more in that moment. Just Mina’s presence, her honesty, and the knowledge that love, in whatever form it took, was something they could both explore in their own time.
Mina stared down at their joined hands, her thumb absentmindedly tracing circles against Sana's skin. She finally let out a breath, letting her shoulders sag.
“I don’t really know how to say this,” Mina said, her gaze flickering from their hands to the dark stretch of trees ahead. “It’s just... Its hard to think about love the way you do. I mean, I’ve cared... deeply. But letting myself feel more than that? It’s always felt complicated. Chaotic.”
“It is messy,” she said, her voice low. “But that’s kind of the point, don’t you think? It doesn’t have to be neat or easy. It just... happens. I didn’t plan it, Mina. I just let myself feel it when it came.”
“I think I’ve always been scared of that... letting things get messy.” She paused, searching for the right words. “I mean, I have enough going on in my mind as it is, to let my heart go in the same direction... But maybe... maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe it’s okay to not have everything figured out. To feel things as they come.”
Sana’s heart softened, hearing the vulnerability in Mina’s voice. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You don’t have to rush anything. We’re going through so much here, I just wanted to put it out there. That things here... could be different. To just... be honest, and open with our feelings.”
Mina glanced at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I think... I want to be. Open to it, I mean.” She exhaled, as if saying it out loud lifted some invisible weight from her shoulders. “I don’t know what that means yet. But I want to figure it out... in my own time.”
Sana nodded, her chest warming at Mina’s honesty. “That’s all I could ever ask for.”
They sat in the stillness that followed, the night wrapping around them like a soft blanket. Mina leaned her head gently against Sana’s shoulder, and Sana let out a quiet breath, feeling a sense of peace settle over her. It wasn’t a confession of love in return, but it was something real—a door left open, a possibility.
They didn’t stay long there before they made their way back toward the fire, but as they neared, Sana noticed the other girls had dispersed into smaller groups, scattered into their own conversations. Only Jihyo remained, sitting alone by the fire, her gaze distant, thoughtful. Mina gave Sana’s hand one last squeeze before letting go, nodding toward Jihyo as she made her way to go find Nayeon.
Taking a breath, Sana approached and lowered herself to the ground beside Jihyo, feeling the warmth of the fire on her face. She glanced at Jihyo’s knee, noticing a small red stain seeping through the bandage. She knew Jihyo was careful, changing the dressings every day to keep any hint of infection at bay. “How’s it feeling?” she asked, her fingers grazing the edge of the bandage. “I’ll help you change it in the morning. Can’t have you out of commission on us.”
Jihyo smiled, her eyes warm, though Sana could see the strain lingering beneath her calm exterior. “I’ll live,” she said lightly. “Not exactly the most glamorous injury, but... it’s manageable.”
Sana hesitated, not wanting to open that door again, not wanting to sour the mood so fast, but she needed to make sure that everyone was alright, “How are you holding up with... everything else?”
Jihyo looked down for a moment, then back at Sana. “I’m... I’m hanging in there. Some days are harder than others. I keep wondering what I can do to help everyone, but then I remember... there’s not much we can do except be here and face it.” She paused, a sad smile touching her lips. “It’s been... a lot, but I’m grateful we’re all still together. That no ones loosing it yet.”
She nodded, letting Jihyo’s words sink in, feeling the weight of everything they’d endured together. She could feel her heart tighten as she looked at Jihyo, this girl who had always put herself second, always carried their burdens with so much strength and grace. Without fully meaning to, she reached out, her hand resting gently over Jihyo’s. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything you do for us... I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as selfless as you.”
Jihyo looked at her, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Why didn’t you tell me sooner? About... your feelings.”
Sana dropped her eyes to the sand as she gathered her thoughts. "I thought about it a lot, actually” she admitted. "I knew, out of everyone, you’d probably understand. You always do. But... I didn’t want to add more to your plate. You already do so much for us. I didn’t want to make things heavier for you by adding my feelings to the mix. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to carry my heart, too.“
Jihyo reached out, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from Sana’s face. "You should’ve told me. I would’ve wanted to know. You don’t have to carry everything on your own, you know.”
Sana felt her chest tighten, her heart swelling like it always did. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I loved you first," she confessed, her words fragile but honest. "You were the first one my heart caught feelings for." She gave a small laugh, a little self-conscious. "It was the way you cared for all of us—so selfless, so strong. I couldn’t help it."
Jihyo’s smile was tender, her eyes searching Sana’s face for more answers. "How long?"
Sana looked away for a moment, her eyes tracing the dark horizon before returning to Jihyo’s. A glint in the girls eyes. “Forever.” she whispered.
The space between them seemed to shrink, the air charged with something unspoken. Jihyo’s gaze softened, her eyes lingering on Sana’s as if asking for permission. Sana felt her heart pounding in her chest, every beat echoing the anticipation she’d held onto for so long. Without thinking, she leaned in, closing the distance, and their lips met.
The kiss was tentative at first, as if both were afraid to shatter the delicate moment. But then the hesitation melted away. The kiss deepened—slow, tender, and filled with everything Sana had held inside. It felt like the world had stopped, leaving only the warmth of Jihyo’s lips and the steady, grounding presence of her touch. For Sana, it was everything she had waited for, every quiet glance, every shared moment crystallized into this one perfect second.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, breaths mingling in the still night. Sana closed her eyes, savoring the sensation, the sweetness of it, letting it wash over her—the softness of Jihyo’s breath, the gentle rhythm of their shared heartbeat.
Jihyo’s fingers brushed lightly against Sana’s cheek, her voice a murmur. "No more secrets, okay? I want us to be honest with each other about this... about everything.”
She couldn’t do anything other than nod. "I promise. But... I don’t want you to feel pressured by this. I can wait... My feelings for you, for the rest... they’re still there. That won’t change."
Jihyo pulled back just enough to meet Sana’s gaze, her eyes clear and glossy. "I know. I’m okay with that." Her smile was gentle but sure, her thumb tracing patterns on Sana´s chin. "I think... now’s the time to figure things out. I... We’ve spent so long trying to hide this things, trying to make sense of them the way we thought we should. But now... it’s just us. No rules, no expectations. No-one to tell us no, here.”
Sana felt something inside her loosen, a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding finally released. "So... you’re okay with it? To us... figuring this out?"
Jihyo didn’t need to nod for Sana to understand, her eyes said it all. "Yeah. I want to see where this goes. I want to be honest with myself for once... with you. And I think it’s okay for us to let ourselves feel... here, now. We’re all trying to make sense of things, and I think that’s what we need.”
Sana´s heart softened, a new sense of warmth settling over her. Just knowing that Jihyo was open to this—to them—was enough.
She leaned in again, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Jihyo’s lips, a quiet promise of everything they could be. And in that moment, consumed by it, Sana felt at peace—like she was exactly where she was meant to be.
And so they just sat there, side by side, watching the others spread out around the fire, each pair or trio deep in conversation or laughter. It was a familiar scene, one that usually filled the air with its unique energy. Jihyo gave Sana a knowing smile, nudging her gently. “You know,” she teased, “you always have a way of stirring up chaos. In a good way, of course.”
Sana laughed softly, leaning into her shoulder. “What can I say? Chaos and I get along.”
They both fell into comfortable silence, watching as Nayeon animatedly told a story to Momo, whose laughter rang out across the shore. Sana felt a warmth settle in her chest, her heart swelling with gratitude for each of them. They’d all been through so much, yet here they were, clinging to each other.
Turning her gaze to Jihyo again, Sana took a breath and ventured to ask, “Do you... feel the same way?” Her voice was soft, careful, as if she feared shattering the moment. “It’s fine if you don’t. I just wanted to know... where we stand. ”
Jihyo’s expression softened, and she reached over to take Sana’s hand. “I do,” she admitted. “I’ve felt it for a while now, longer than I even realized.” Laughter ringed by their side. “Sometimes it takes... a strange situation to finally accept what’s been there all along.”
She felt her heart skip a beat, maybe even doing jumps inside her body. She smiled back. “Thank you for telling me.”
Jihyo chuckled, a touch of nervousness slipping into her voice as she glanced at the others. “So... do you mind if I ask who else you feel this way about?”
Sana’s smile grew. She was finally able to share her heart completely, fully. And this time she didn’t fear being judged. “I’ve never really hidden it, I don’t think.” She paused, looking out at the group, each girl carrying her own place in Sana’s heart. “It’s all of you, in different ways. You, Nayeon, Jeongyeon, Dahyun... there’s something unique about what I feel with each of you.”
“It’s strange, isn’t it? How one heart can feel so much. I guess I get it... in my own way. It’s not the same, but still.” She hesitated, and then added, “I’ve always felt a connection with Jeongyeon and Nayeon. We’ve been together so long, grown up together. It’s impossible not to feel something deeper.”
“That makes sense. You’ve shared so much with them.”
Jihyo watched her for a moment, her brow creasing slightly. “How do you do it, Sana? I mean, is obvious some girls linger closer to others... How do you manage watching everything, knowing what you do... how do you not feel jealous?”
She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “It’s not that I never feel it,” she said. “Sometimes I do. But it’s not... a bitter kind of jealousy. It’s more like... I just want to be included, to be a part of the love you all share.” She gave Jihyo’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “In those moments, I just remind myself that this isn’t about holding on tightly. It’s about letting it flow however it needs to. Don’t get me wrong, it took me a while to figure it out, but I learned to manage it over time. It’s like... learning to dance to different rhythms.”
“I’m so glad you told me, Sana. I’m grateful I get to know this side of you... and that you feel this way.”
Sana’s smile was warm, and as she helped Jihyo up, guiding her toward the shelter for the night, she felt a deep contentment settle within her. The two of them walked slowly, sharing small words and laughter along the way, and when they finally reached the shelter, Sana held Jihyo tightly, gently lowering her to sit between her legs, Jihyo’s back resting against her chest. Sana leaned against the wall, her fingers moving to caress Jihyo’s scalp, a small act of care she’d always loved giving.
Jihyo relaxed into her, letting out a sigh, and Sana’s heart ached at the simplicity of it, of being able to be here like this, holding her, touching her.
It felt right.
Like she found her place in all of this.
Jihyo turned slightly, her eyes full of affection though the sadness seeped through. “I love you, Sana. And... I wish it hadn’t taken something like this to make me realize it.”
Sana brushed a strand of hair from Jihyo’s face, her gaze soft. “Me too,” she whispered. “But I’m glad we’re here now. I don’t care about the rest.”
Jihyo’s hand moved up to rest against Sana’s cheek, her thumb brushing softly over her skin. “Thank you for waiting, for understanding.”
Sana’s voice was tender as she responded. “I would have waited as long as you needed. I still will.”
They sat there, and Jihyo leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Sana’s cheek. “Promise me... you’ll tell me everything.”
Sana nodded, her smile soft. “I promise. No more secrets.”
/////////
She watched trough the opening as the others drifted toward their shelters for the night, settling into pairs or small groups. The air had cooled, brushing against her skin like a whisper, a reminder of how vulnerable they all were out here. She and Jihyo were tucked into their small shelter, the soft hum of the ocean in the distance filling the gaps between their words.
Jeongyeon slipped into the shelter where Sana and Jihyo were resting, her shoulders hunched, looking slightly lost in thought. She glanced at them as they lay together, her eyes flickering with something unreadable.
"Hey," Sana greeted her, shifting to make a bit more space. Jihyo nodded in greeting as well.
"Hey," Jeongyeon murmured, her voice low. She ran a hand through her hair, sighing. "I’m not here to interrupt anything. Just... getting ready to sleep.”
Sana shared a brief look with Jihyo, and they both nodded reassuringly. “It’s okay, Jeong,” Jihyo said, her voice gentle.
After a moment of silence, Sana found herself speaking again, her words soft but filled withcertainty. "Nothing’s different, you know. Not really. I still care about you... about all of you. That hasn’t changed. We’re still the same.”
Jeongyeon looked up, her eyes meeting Sana’s with a flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if wrestling with the right words. Finally, she exhaled, her voice quieter than before.
"Sana, I care about you too. You know that. But... I don’t... I don’t feel the same way.”
Sana felt a pang in her chest, but she forced herself to keep her voice steady, her tone calm. "I get that," she said, her voice even. “And I’m not asking you to feel anything either. But... I just need to know what you’re asking of me.”
Jeongyeon’s gaze dropped, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the lines in the bamboo floor. "I don’t know," she admitted, her voice rough around the edges. "I don’t know what I want right now. I think I just need... time."
Jihyo reached out, her hand resting lightly on Jeongyeon’s shoulder. She didn’t say anything, it was just a gesture of support, to show her no-one was expecting anything.
Jeongyeon let out a shaky breath, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I’m not upset," she whispered. "I just... need to sleep it off. Maybe it’ll feel clearer in the morning."
Sana reached out, her fingers brushing her leg. "Take all the time you need," she murmured. "We’re not going anywhere."
Jeongyeon gave her hand a brief squeeze before letting go, settling back against the bamboo floor. The three of them surrounded by the darkness, the distant sound of waves filling the quiet. Slowly, Jeongyeon’s breathing evened out, her features softening as she drifted into sleep.
Sana glanced at Jihyo, her heart heavy yet comforted by the presence of the girls around her. She leaned back, feeling the warmth of Jihyo close to her, and allowed herself to close her eyes.
/////////
The smell of the lingering fire drew Sana's attention, and she spotted Momo and Dahyun crouched nearby, feeding small twigs and bits of dried leaves into the embers, keeping the flame alive. Nayeon had worked hard to start it, and they weren’t about to let it die out.
As soon as they saw Sana, both girls stood up, moving toward her and wrapping her in a warm hug. She let herself sink into it, sink into their embrace. After a moment, they pulled back, both looking at her with tired eyes.
“We wanted to talk last night,” Dahyun said, her voice soft, a little hesitant. “But you were with Mina and then Jihyo... and it didn’t feel like the right time.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “It’s okay. I get it.”
They all sat down beside the flames, waiting maybe, for the rest to follow once they woke up and wanted to get breakfast started.
She felt relief in their company. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this—just sitting together, sharing the silence. Not like last night with all the confessions and the heavy words. This was just quiet... Peace.
“Hey, about what you said last night...” Momo said after sharing a look with Dahyun. “I just want you to know... it means a lot. Knowing how much you care about us. It was the right thing, Sana. To let us in. To let us know. I’m glad you did. It paint a different picture, at least in my head.”
Dahyun nodded, picking at a loose thread on her shorts. “Yeah. It’s not something people say out loud often, you know? Not like that. It was... honest. And it kind of made me realize how much I appreciate that.”
Shed felt her heart do all kinds of thinks lately—a nervous flutter this time— that she wondered how much more she could take. “I was worried it might make things weird,” she said. “But I didn’t want to keep it in anymore. I couldn’t, it was eating me alive.”
Momo reached over, giving Sana’s hand a squeeze. “It’s not weird,” she said. “It just made me think about how lucky we are to have each other. I mean, not everyone gets to be surrounded by people who care this much.”
Dahyun smiled a little, her voice quieter. “Yeah. It’s not about who feels what exactly. It’s just.. knowing we’re here for each other. That’s what matters.”
Sana’s throat tightened, but she managed a soft smile. “That’s all I wanted,” she whispered. “To know we’re still the same.”
Momo leaned back, looking between them. “We are,” she said. “If anything, what you said just reminded me how deep all of this runs. You were brave enough to say it out loud. I respect that.”
Dahyun nodded, glancing at the fire. “It made me realize how much I care about what we have, even more than before.”
She didn’t need anything more. Just knowing they valued her love and that nothing had shifted between them was enough. She was happy this way, genuinely. They were her girls, and she couldn’t imagine a life where she didn’t have them next to her.
She heard rustling to her side. Wood creaking as Nayeon emerged from her shelter stretching her arms. She’d shared it with Dahyun and Tzuyu last night, and now as she carried a couple of coconuts she just got from their storage—the slightly shabby, barely holding itself together, shelter they’d built for the first time.
“Good morning!” Nayeon cracked open one of the coconuts, passing the pieces around, making sure each of them got a portion. She had this was of always brightening the mood, a surge of energy always present when she was around.
They nibbled on the coconut pieces, Nayeon glancing making sure everyone was eating. “So,” she began, her tone casual, “Jeongyeon was up early and talked to me about wanting to go back to the place where they found those berries, but, you know—without getting lost this time.” She gave a light chuckle, as if the thought of Jeongyeon mapping out the path in her mind was the most amusing thing she’d ever imagined.
Dahyun nodded, her eyes bright. “Tzuyu got up early too. I think she’s already getting ready for another day out there.” Nayeon’s lips curved into a mischievous smirk as she glanced Dahyun’s way, her eyes sparkling with the hint of a joke.
“Well, I’m surprised she was up at all,” Nayeon teased, her tone light and playful. “I mean, the two of you were practically glued to each other last night. You were so cuddly... I mean, I didn’t feel the cold at all.” She laughed, and Sana joined in, watching as Dahyun’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink, her blush giving her away.
“Oh, come on, Nayeon,” Dahyun mumbled, covering her face in embarrassment, though her laughter soon mixed with the others’. “It’s not like that.”
And as they kept on teasing each other, she couldn’t help the memory from the previous night rising to the surface—her conversation with Jihyo. Jealousy. About love, and the complexities of sharing those feelings. Watching Dahyun now, the girl’s soft smile lingering as she looked toward Tzuyu—getting ready for the days journey with the rest—Sana took a moment to examine her own heart. She expected to feel some of bitter thing, some small ache knowing that Dahyun’s heart was with someone else. But what she felt instead was a surprising, swelling... comfort. Happiness. Relief, even.
She’d known jealousy before, and she’d braced herself for its sting now, but it simply wasn’t there. She tried to find it, to trace the lines of her emotions, searching for even the slightest hint of resentment. Instead, her heart only echoed with joy, a sense of peace that settled her soul. She wasn’t just content with their closeness—she was genuinely, wholeheartedly happy for them both. They deserved this, deserved each other’s gentle, caring presence, and knowing they had found comfort in each other only made her heart feel fuller.
Maybe jealousy would rise another time, another situation perhaps. But for now, she couldn’t imagine feeling anything other than... gratitude. For having them, for being able to keep them so close to her heart. She knew now that love was vast, infinite, and far more beautiful when it was free, without restrictions or possessiveness.
Nayeon leaned over, resting her head on Sana’s shoulder, her laughter fading into a soft, contented hum. “I don’t know what it is, but today feels different. Lighter.” Nayeon murmured, her voice laced with something gentle and vulnerable.
Sana reached up, brushing a smudge of dirt from Nayeons cheek, her own smile growing. “Yeah, I feel it too.”
And as the morning continued, she just sat there, taking in the sight of her friends, her heart feeling fuller than ever. Love existed here, freely moving between them, a shared bond that no one else would understand, that not one single label could define.
She understood now what she’d known for a while...
These were her girls.