The Returning Ex

John hastily headed out, with water still dripping from his wet hair. He might’ve been too rushed when he was drying himself in the shower earlier, and he didn’t even towel his hair dry. He wore a cold and stern expression on his face, showing how much of a bad mood he was in.

It felt like he had only taken a few steps out from his room before he arrived at the elevator, but the elevator had already gone down when he got there.

He annoyedly jabbed the button for the elevator before waiting with his brows furrowed. Once the elevator came, he went down and immediately left the hotel for the beach.

There were still small groups of twos and threes hanging around at the beach when he arrived. The lighting at the area was dim, and some individuals who couldn’t control themselves just hugged and kissed one another in public.

John found himself focusing on these people, but he stared at a few couples only to find that they weren’t Sophia. He ran his tongue across the back of his teeth.

If I hadn’t promised Old Mr. Constance that I would take good care of Sophia for the rest of her life, I wouldn’t even have come out to the beach. With that thought, he continued to walk further down the beach.

Sophia and the singer were indeed standing by the sea, feeling the breeze against their faces as they chit-chatted. She found out that the singer was a drifter

once he found a good place and leave whenever he got bored. With her arms wrapped around her shoulders, she asked,

singer smiled as he explained, “Perhaps I haven’t found the right person to make me want to settle down.”

with a light chuckle. “I’m here to heal myself, I guess. I got a divorce just recently.” She was simply too desperate to find herself a listener, someone who’d let

shock to the singer. He looked at her for a little before he said, “You look really young; I wouldn’t have expected you to be married.” He paused. “Why did you get a divorce? Did you guys

didn’t love me anymore. Why should I hold onto a man that doesn’t love me, right?” She turned to the singer

his guitar still in his hand, he contemplated for a moment before he offered, “Why don’t I sing you a song? I’m bad at comforting people.” Sophia thought of the slow, melodious song that she had heard at the bar earlier and how

a huge rock nearby, cleared his voice, and began to sing while he strummed

the sea breeze. The singer’s voice was muffled by the sound of the wind,

countless experiences—most of them bad ones—but she had never

feelings. With a smile still on her face, she rubbed her hands across her