Wanderlust

The wind whipped up from the cliffs, carrying the smell of salt and pine as Mia steadied herself on a narrow trail winding along the Amalfi Coast. Below her, the Mediterranean stretched out like a sheet of polished glass, its deep blue surface broken only by the occasional whitecap or lazy fishing boat. Above, the sky was a relentless, perfect blue—one of those skies that looked like it was painted by a bored god with nothing better to do.

"Christ, this place is almost too pretty," Mia muttered to herself, adjusting the lens on her camera for the hundredth time that day. She lifted the viewfinder to her eye, capturing the way the sunlight bounced off the sea, turning the water into a shimmering carpet of light. Click. Another postcard-perfect shot, another frame that would look just as good on Instagram as it would in a high-end photography gallery in some overpriced city.

She'd been here for days now, wandering the cliffs, the beaches, the little villages with their narrow, twisting streets. And at first, it had been exhilarating. Amalfi had a way of sinking its teeth into you, wrapping itself around your senses until you couldn't think of anything but how goddamn beautiful it all was.

But today—today, there was something different in the air. Something that gnawed at her in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on.

The trail twisted again, leading her to a rocky outcrop jutting out over the sea. Mia perched herself on the edge, letting her feet dangle into the void below. The drop was steep—maybe a hundred feet down to the water—but she wasn't worried. Heights never bothered her much. She had bigger things to be afraid of.

She swung her camera up again, zooming in on the horizon, trying to lose herself in the mechanics of the shot. That's how she usually did it—how she pushed everything else aside.

Focus on the light, the composition, the timing. The rest? The rest could wait until later.

But even as she clicked away, framing the endless blue of the sea, the tightness in her chest didn't go away. It was still there, like a shadow lurking just out of sight.

What was wrong with her?

She should've been happy—hell, she was living the dream, wasn't she? Traveling the world, doing what she loved, no strings attached. No commitments. No complications. Just her and her camera, moving from place to place, capturing moments that would never exist again.

And yet...

Mia dropped her camera to her lap and leaned back on her hands, closing her eyes against the blinding sunlight. The warmth soaked into her skin, but it didn't reach that cold spot inside her. That creeping sense of something missing—something she couldn't quite name.

Loneliness. That's what it was, wasn't it?

The word felt foreign, unwelcome, like an intruder in her mind. She wasn't supposed to feel that. Not her. Not Mia Winters, the girl who'd spent her entire adult life running from connection, from attachment, from everything that threatened to tie her down.

She thought about her friends back home—what few she had left, anyway. They were all settled now, married with kids or climbing some corporate ladder to nowhere. Every once in a while, they'd send her messages on social media, saying how jealous they were of her freedom, how they wished they could just pick up and leave like she did.

But Mia had stopped replying a long time ago. Because what was the point? They didn't get it. Freedom wasn't just about hopping on a plane and jetting off to the next adventure. It was about cutting yourself loose from everything—and everyone—that could slow you down. And she'd been good at that. Too good, maybe.

She opened her eyes, staring out at the horizon again. A small boat chugged along in the distance, its white wake cutting through the glassy surface of the water. For a moment, she envied the people on that boat. They probably had someone with them—someone to share the view, the breeze, the sound of the waves.

And here she was, alone on a cliffside with nothing but her camera for company.

Mia laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the stillness around her. What the hell was she thinking? She didn't need anyone. She'd been doing just fine on her own.

But even as she told herself that, the feeling in her chest didn't go away. If anything, it dug in deeper, like a splinter working its way under her skin.

She flipped through the photos she'd taken that day, the small screen of her camera reflecting the images back at her. They were beautiful—no doubt about that. But as she stared at them, one after another, she realized something was missing. The light was perfect, the colors were vibrant, but there was no life in them. No... soul.

Her fingers stilled on the camera's buttons, and she sat there for a long moment, just staring at the screen. This had never happened to her before. Photography had always been her escape, her way of making sense of the world. But now? Now it just felt like a distraction.

She thought about the man from the marketplace—the firefighter. What was his name again? Ethan Hale, wasn't it? Yeah, that was it. There had been something about him, something that had stuck with her in a way she hadn't expected. It wasn't just his looks, although he was easy on the eyes. It was the way he'd carried himself—calm, steady, like he was anchored to the ground while the rest of the world spun around him.

Mia had been spinning for so long, she wasn't sure if she even remembered what it felt like to be grounded.

She shook her head, trying to clear the thought. She wasn't here to think about some random guy she'd barely even spoken to. She was here to work. To do what she always did—take the pictures, get the job done, and move on.

And yet...

"Shit," she muttered, running a hand through her hair. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

Maybe it was the coast. Maybe it was the endless blue of the sea, the way the sun set the cliffs on fire every evening, the way the world seemed to slow down here in a way that it didn't anywhere else. Maybe it was that Amalfi had a way of forcing you to stop—really stop—and take a good, hard look at yourself.

Or maybe it was just time catching up with her. Time, and all the things she'd been running from for years.

Mia stood up, brushing the dirt from her jeans. She slung her camera over her shoulder and turned back toward the trail, her feet moving on autopilot as she started the long walk back to the village.

The path was quiet now, the only sound the soft crunch of her boots on the rocky ground. The sea was still there, just as beautiful as it had been an hour ago. But somehow, it didn't feel as inviting anymore. It felt... empty.

She thought about her friends again, the ones who had settled down, the ones with roots. They had something she didn't—someone to share their lives with. And for the first time, Mia found herself wondering if maybe... maybe they were onto something.

She stopped in the middle of the trail, looking out at the horizon one last time. The sun was dipping lower now, casting long shadows over the cliffs.

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be happy. Free.

But as she stood there, the weight of her solitude pressing in on her, Mia couldn't shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—she'd been wrong.

Maybe freedom wasn't enough. Not anymore.

And that scared the hell out of her.

She turned away from the view, forcing herself to keep walking. There was work to be done. There was always work to be done. And that, at least, was something she could count on.

But even as she walked, the nagging thought wouldn't leave her alone.

What if it wasn't enough?

What if, after all these years of running, she'd finally run out of road?

By the time Mia reached the village, the streets were already starting to empty out, the locals retreating to their homes for the evening. She wandered through the narrow alleys, her feet moving without direction, her mind still tangled up in thoughts she didn't want to acknowledge.

She passed by the same café she'd been to the other day, the one where she'd seen Ethan. She glanced inside, half-expecting to see him sitting there again, but the tables were empty, the chairs stacked neatly on top of them.

Mia kept walking, her camera bumping against her hip with every step. The weight of it was familiar, comforting. But today, even that wasn't enough to shake the feeling that had settled deep in her chest.

For the first time in a long time, Mia wondered if maybe—just maybe—she didn't want to be alone anymore.

And that thought scared her more than anything.

The sea, the cliffs, the beauty of Amalfi—it was all there, all as stunning as ever. But as she made her way back to her apartment, Mia couldn't shake the feeling that none of it mattered without someone to share it with.

She was alone.

And for the first time, she wasn't sure if that was what she wanted anymore.

As she unlocked the door to her apartment, the weight in her chest settled in for the night, a familiar ache that she couldn't quite explain.

Maybe tomorrow would be different.

Maybe tomorrow, she'd feel like herself again.

Or maybe... maybe it was time to stop pretending.