Love Without Measure

10. Whispers of Bali

The air was thick with the perfume of incense and frangipani when Emma Hayes stepped out of Ngurah Rai International Airport and into the golden haze of Bali's late afternoon sun. The humidity clung to her skin, sticky yet alive, like a reminder that she was no longer in Edinburgh's gray drizzle. Her suitcase rattled unevenly against the cracked pavement as she followed the signs toward the waiting drivers, each holding up name cards, each calling out offers for taxis.

She wasn't here to find herself—she told anyone who asked. She was here to forget. To escape the aftermath of a breakup that had left her hollow. To trade routine for something brighter, even if just for a week.

The villa she had booked in Seminyak was tucked away behind a narrow alley of scooters and bougainvillea, its thatched roof and private plunge pool a little oasis. When she arrived, the staff greeted her with wide smiles and a chilled glass of guava juice. Emma barely had the energy to do more than collapse onto the bed, the sound of cicadas and distant waves lulling her into an unsteady nap.

Meanwhile, half a world away from his old life, Noah Turner had also landed in Bali with a suitcase and a reason to run. Portland had become a prison of endless deadlines and suffocating office walls. He had quit his job impulsively, the kind of move his friends called reckless, but he didn't care. For the first time in years, he felt free—even if that freedom came with an unsettling emptiness.

He checked into a surf hostel in Canggu, a far cry from Emma's tucked-away villa. His room smelled faintly of saltwater and sunscreen, and the walls shook with laughter and music from the common bar. Noah didn't mind. He wanted the chaos, the noise, the distraction of strangers. He spent his first days surfing at dawn, getting sunburnt despite layers of zinc, and drinking Bintang beer until his head spun.

But even in the midst of it, something felt missing.

Their worlds collided on the fourth evening.

Emma had wandered down to Seminyak Beach, drawn by the pull of the ocean at sunset. The horizon burned orange and pink, clouds heavy with the promise of rain, while hundreds of beanbags dotted the sand. Local musicians strummed guitars, their voices blending with the roar of the tide. Emma bought a fresh coconut from a vendor and settled into a seat, letting her toes dig into the warm sand.

That was when she saw him.

Tall, broad-shouldered, carrying a surfboard under one arm, hair damp from the sea, Noah walked toward the cluster of beach bars as if he belonged to the moment. He dropped the board near a stand of umbrellas, then scanned the crowd. Their eyes met for only a heartbeat, but it was enough—something flickered, a pull neither expected.

Emma quickly looked away, embarrassed at how her heart thudded from such a simple glance. She wasn't here for romance. She had promised herself.

But fate—or Bali—had other ideas.

The sudden downpour came fast, as it always did on the island. Tourists shrieked and scrambled for cover, dragging beanbags and drinks under makeshift tents. Emma, juggling her coconut and tote bag, nearly slipped in the sand. Before she could steady herself, a hand reached out—firm, steady, warm—and caught her by the elbow.

"Careful," a deep American voice said, steady over the laughter and chaos.

Emma looked up. It was him—the surfer with the storm-colored eyes.

She laughed nervously, brushing wet strands of hair from her face. "Bali rain... it doesn't give you much warning, does it?"

Noah grinned, water dripping down his jaw. "That's part of the charm. Come on, there's space under that tarp."