Night was falling as Alex walked toward the beach with his worn-out backpack slung over his shoulder. The scent of salt, the murmur of the sea, and the crunch of sand beneath his feet greeted him like they did every evening. He needed to catch something for dinner. Ever since he ran away from home, surviving on his own had become part of his daily routine.
But that day wasn’t just any day—it marked exactly one year since he had left. He was still very young when he decided to go, chasing freedom, tired of feeling invisible in a house full of absences.
His mother, a renowned historian, lived between conferences, books, and endless travels. She always spoke of ancient civilizations, lost empires, and old legends, but rarely asked how her own son was feeling.
—She never had time for me—Alex whispered, lying back on the lounge chair, watching the sky turn shades of orange.
His father, owner of a prestigious fashion house, spent more time with models and designers than with his own family. Sometimes it seemed like he didn’t even know who Alex was.
The only person Alex truly missed was his sister. She understood him. Adventurous and full of life, they used to go camping in the jungle during the holidays. Sitting by the campfire, they would sing, play guitar, roast marshmallows, and tell ghost stories under the stars.
Still, Alex convinced himself that no one missed him. But he was wrong.
His aunt, every Sunday night, secretly visited a fortune teller in town. Among cards and crystals, she would beg her to predict Alex’s whereabouts. She had never stopped looking for him.
As the waves gently broke on the shore and the campfire crackled beside him, Alex realized that maybe… just maybe… he wasn’t as alone as he thought.
Thanks for joining me on this little summer journey. Until the next story…