I didn't set an alarm this time.
When I finally opened my eyes, the sun was already high and hot, streaming through the gaps in my curtains like it had been waiting on me. The nerves from yesterday had drained me more than I realized — the kind of tired that feels earned.
I rolled onto my side and checked my phone. One new message.
Maya:
Beach. You, me, Rey. Noon. Don't say no.
I smiled. She knew I'd try.
The beach wasn't crowded. Just a few kids digging moats around sandcastles and some guy with a metal detector who looked like he'd been out there since the 80s.
Rey had brought his sketchbook and was already lying back in the sand, sunglasses askew, drawing something upside down. Maya had snacks — obviously — and made us swear not to check our phones for at least an hour.
We didn't talk about the interview. Not right away. It was like they were waiting for me to bring it up, and I kind of loved them for that.
We let the day breathe first.
Later, after Rey tried (and failed) to build a sand pyramid, we lay in a line, toes pointed toward the water, watching the sky fade from bright to gold.
"You looked different today," Maya said casually.
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Not bad different," she added quickly. "Just… like you'd stepped into something."
I didn't really know what to say to that, so I just let the waves answer for a minute.
Then I said, "I think I liked how I sounded yesterday. That's never happened before."
Rey propped himself up on one elbow. "You always sound like you. Maybe you just finally heard it."
The wind picked up a little. It felt like it agreed with him.
We stayed until the light started disappearing and the air turned cool. Maya drove us home with the windows down, music up, and sand still clinging to our skin.
When I walked inside, my mom was making pasta and humming something old-school. She didn't ask how my day was. She just handed me a bowl, warm and full, and said, "You seem lighter."
I sat on the counter and twirled my fork. "It was a good day."
"That's all I hope for," she said, tapping my knee gently on her way to the fridge.
📔 Diary Entry — June 19
There wasn't a big moment today.
No life-changing email. No hard questions. No butterflies.
Just sun and sea salt and people who know me too well.
And still — it meant something. The way they made space for me. The way no one pushed. The way the silence between us felt like comfort, not awkwardness.
I'm starting to think growing up isn't just the big leaps — interviews, decisions, college plans. Maybe it's also in the stillness that comes after.
The part where you let yourself rest.
The part where your friends remind you who you are.
The part where you don't need to prove anything — even to yourself.
Just today.
Just being.
That was enough.