Page 15 of Ripple Effect

My phone keeps lighting up with notifications, a constant stream of messages and missed calls from my friends back in Dayton. They all heard about the breakup but have no clue about the real reason behind it. According to their messages, they seem to be questioning my motives and immediately taking Logan’s side.

Apparently, he made it seem as though I transferred to Coastal and dumped him after a few weeks apart. My stomach dips every time I think about it. How easily he managed to paint himself as the victim while the truth is the exact opposite.

But what hurts more is the radio silence from Logan himself. There hasn’t been a single text or call from him since he walked out of my apartment. Not a single word of regret or even a pathetic attempt at an apology.

In fact, the realization dawns on me that he never once said the words “I’m sorry” following his confession.

And now, my friends’ well-meaning messages of comfort and misunderstandings just feel like salt on an open wound. None of them truly know what happened, none of them know about the deep-seated betrayal I feel.

And then there’s surfing. My board lies untouched, collecting dust in the corner of my room. It’s strange how something that used to give me so much joy now feels like a reminder of all that I’ve lost.

I haven’t had the heart to even look at it.

In these quiet, solitary moments, I allow myself to feel the pain, the heartbreak. Tears stain my pillow, my chest heavy with unshed sobs. Yet amidst all the despair, I find myself trying to hold on to a tiny sliver of hope. A silver lining in the midst of it all.

Logan was a significant part of my life, but he wasn’t my whole life.

His betrayal hurts, but it doesn’t define me or shape my worth. I’m more than this heartbreak, more than this pain. I’m Daisy Grey—friend, student, surfer. I’m a girl who’s strong enough to overcome this, who deserves someone who can match that strength, someone who will respect and love me the way I’m worthy of.

I hold on to this thought like a lifeline, a glimmer of hope amidst the sea of sorrow I find myself in. My strength may be a tiny spark right now, but I know it will grow. As they say, time heals everything.

The nights are the hardest. The silence of the darkened room allows my thoughts to run rampant, every “what if” and “if only” echoing louder in the stillness. The ache in my chest intensifies,the tears fall easier. But I let them, each salty droplet a small part of my healing process.

My thoughts continue to wander back to that moment. Logan’s confession, his raw and uncomfortable honesty. His words play back in my mind, their implications sinking deeper each time. The feeling of inadequacy has a way of creeping back, bringing with it a fresh wave of pain.

And on Saturday night, when I’m curled up alone in my bed, my phone lights up with another message from a friend. This time, it’s Nessa, and she’s wondering when she might see me again. I consider replying, to let them all know that I’m okay or, at the very least, that I will be.

Instead, I clear my notifications, silencing the unending stream of concerns and condolences. It’s not their fault they don’t know the whole truth, but right now, their misguided sympathy feels more like an intrusion into my healing process.

I need time and space away from anything—everything—that reminds me of him. Time to heal on my own terms.

7

ELIO

The usual calmof my apartment feels too oppressive tonight.

Late-night filming, usually a solace in its own way, is off the table until my heart gets its act together. The emptiness around me echoes louder than it should, pushing me out of the four walls closing in on me.

So, Bentley and I head over to Amber Isle.

Our late-night strolls have become an escape route for me. The quiet hum of the ocean and the feel of the cold sand under my feet are grounding in ways I never thought possible. Bentley, of course, revels in the freedom to sniff out every little thing without distraction.

But tonight, the solitude I crave is disrupted.

In the distance, there’s a figure hunched over on the beach. Her silhouette is bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight. A surfboard lies abandoned next to her. The wavy hair cascading down her back catches the light, making her stand out against the dark sand, and my chest tightens with recognition.

It’s Daisy, out there all alone.

Bentley, who never fails to pick up on my unspoken thoughts, pulls at his leash, eager to greet her. “Alright, bud, let’s go,” I concede, realizing I’m not completely averse to the idea myself.

As we approach, I see Daisy in a new light. Her usually radiant face is cast downward, shoulders trembling. She’s crying, sobbing by the looks of it. And the sight of the tearstains on her cheeks, those red-rimmed eyes, yanks at something inside of me.

“Hey,” I say, lowering myself onto the sand beside her.

She looks up, surprise flashing in her eyes. “Elio? What are you doing out here so late?”

“Just couldn’t sleep,” I say with a shrug. “And what about you?”

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