The Hangover Cure
I woke to the sound of seagulls and regret.
My head felt like a tambourine someone forgot to stop playing. Isabella was already up, sitting cross-legged by the window, sunglasses on indoors and a bottle of water clutched like holy relic.
“Still alive?” I croaked.
“Barely,” she said. “But I made coffee. It’s tragic.”
We’d had one of those nights — the kind you remember in flashes and laughter, not order. The photoshoot today had been moved to the beach. “Something calm,” Miguel said. He looked at us both and added, “And horizontal, preferably.”
Beach Recovery
By late morning, we made it down to Barceloneta Beach — sun on skin, soft waves, the kind of warmth that forgives you for being human. Isabella wore a loose white shirt and a floppy hat; I stuck to sunglasses, hair tied up, trying to look less like a cautionary tale.
We spent the day doing absolutely nothing important — sipping coconut water, letting the sea breeze chase away the night. The photographers barely bothered us, just catching fragments — hands in the sand, laughter over spilled drinks, the slow kind of smiles that only come after chaos.
End of Day 4
At sunset, we sat quiet, watching the horizon fade into gold and violet. Isabella leaned her head on my shoulder.
“Do you ever get tired of being the one everyone wants to watch?” she asked softly.
I thought for a long moment before answering.
“Only when they forget, I’m not the image, I’m a real person.”
She smiled. “Then let’s do something to remind them tomorrow.”
See Raven's Private Posts
Raven reveals her personal and intimate moments from her private journal through images on dFans 🌹
See Isabella's Private Posts
Isabella reveals her personal and intimate moments from her private journal through images on dFans 🌹