When he first appears, I’m convinced he’s a mirage, a dream spun from the sleepy afternoon. The sun beats down mercilessly, glistening on the sand dunes, and I’m forced to squint. But then the figure approaches, sharpens, and then slides into the barstool opposite me. He thumps his hand against the bamboo counter—the noise as solid as flesh and bone.

I jolt.

“Sorry.” He offers a charming grin. “Didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m just dying for a drink.”

“You’re not disturbing me.” I rub the sleepiness from my eyes. “Welcome to The Boiling Point. What will you have?”

His grin widens, sharklike. “Cool name. What do you suggest, miss?”

If he reads the chalkboard hanging next to me then he’ll know that there’s nothing to suggest. But I offer fresh buko juice, every tourist’s favorite delicacy, because at least I’ll have something to do with my hands.

“Sounds good,” he says.

I take my time choosing a suitable coconut from beneath the counter, and then grab my bolo from the chopping block. Today’s humidity is thick enough to choke. Despite my high ponytail, my neck is still plastered with sweat. Even the stranger slumps over the counter. His dark eyes track me as he fans himself with his own shirt. The white cotton sticks to the contours of his chest, revealing sharp collar bones against tan skin. I don’t want the machete to slip, so I wipe my hands on a towel before steadying the coconut.

The knife comes down with a thwack. The fruit splits open at the top, like a bottle popping its own cork. I shove a straw into the small opening and push it towards him.

“Tell me when you’ve finished the juice,” I say. “I’ll cut it in half and scoop out the meat for you.”

“Thank you.” He takes a grateful sip and then eyes my knife. “You’re really good with that.”

I laugh. “It’s easy.”

“I would’ve cut my finger off if I tried.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m the one trying, right?”

He laughs. It’s a loud, luscious sound, overpowering the rest of the waves. A sea bird caws overhead, circling the sea, searching for lunch. A single gust of wind arrives, smelling like salt as it rustles the palm trees, but it’s still hot. Unbearable. And then the breeze is gone, leaving us with the heat and the peace.

“What’s your name?” the stranger asks. He swirls his straw, achingly casual, half-distracted. I tuck a strand of damp hair behind my ear.

“Diana,” I say. “Yours?”

“Jericho.”

“Like the movie star!”

“I’m not half as handsome.”

That’s a clear lie and we both know it. But I roll my eyes anyway, unwilling to give in just yet. I want to drag it out a little longer. Flirt with a handsome stranger, pretend I’m who I want to be, play this game. Most days melt into each other, one bore after another. This will prove another exciting memory, or a promise, weeks down the line, when I’ve spent another afternoon dozing on my bamboo counter.

But for now—him. Straw between straight teeth. A lithe body perched on a barstool. Short wavy hair like in the magazines. An easy confidence in his limbs. Lean muscles, not the kind from hard labor.

“Okay, I must ask,” he says, “are you really the only person here? I know the village is nearer the main beach but…”

“Yes, I’m the only one here. Lucky me.”

“Lucky?” He blinks. “So tell me, what are you doing all alone on this side of the island?”

“You tell me,” I bite back. “What are you doing here instead of staying at the main beach?”

He raises a brow, as if to challenge my non-answer. “It was too crowded.”

“There’s your answer.” I gesture to the open air, the vibrant sea. No traces of human intervention, no chaos. “Why should I compete with dozens of other businesses when I can monopolize the market right here?”

He laughs. “There is no market.”

“There’s you.” I grin and cock a hand on my hip. “I’m your only choice, you poor soul.”

He snorts. When he goes for another sip, he finds the coconut empty. I offer to take it and he hands it over with a strange, calculating expression—skeptical and mirthful all at once. Like he doubts anything else can be squeezed from its hollows. I grab the machete and swing.

The two halves of the fruit fall apart with grace. They reveal a milky white interior, thick and smooth. The meat is tender, easily scooped into a bowl with my spoon.

“How long have you been here?” he asks, testing the meat. He seems mildly intrigued by its softness and I already know; he’s only had this out of a can, or out of a truck that traveled miles away. Sure, he’s got the same features as every other man on this island, but there’s a wonder to him that betrays his foreignness. His tanned skin is smooth, clear, not burnt to a husk like he’s forced to toil his days beneath the unforgiving sun. His shirt is plain, yes, but the fibers look natural in a way that I know is expensive. A feigned simplicity. He wears a plastic wristwatch, but the band is bright and cheerful against his skin. And everything about him is casual, unaffected, like the world will allow him this leisure, this claim to space.

All men wear this predatory air, this swagger that marks them as kings of their own hills. Jericho has it too, of course, but he also has a sense of boyish wonder. His existence is a novelty. When was the last time a man looked at me like I was someone worth admiring?

“I was born here,” I say, running my finger across the countertop, tracing patterns in the bamboo. “But this stall is brand new. I’ve only had it for a year.”

“Have you ever thought of leaving?”

I chuckle. “I used to daydream about it when I was a girl. But I’m a woman of this island. The sea is my blood and the clouds are my hair. The sand forms my skin. My ancestors settled here long, long ago, even before this nation was formed, even before this language we speak was born. This is my home, and so I stay, and no longer think of leaving.” I shrug. “Besides, you get used to it. I love this place because I know it so well.”

He smiles carefully, like I’ve told him a tall tale.

“That’s a beautiful legend,” he says. “Very poetic. So you’re never bored?”

“Sometimes.” I lean on the countertop, close enough to be friendly, but not close enough to be tantalizing. “But there are lots of interesting things here. Interesting animals and people.”

“And who are these interesting animals and people?” he asks, as if goading me on to say you.

I don’t rise to his bait. “Yes, you must have seen the tourists who go whale watching on their boats. A group of scientists came here once to study a bird they thought had gone extinct. And the monkeys are friendly; they like to watch us from the trees.”

“You know, I,” he pauses, then shakes his head. “I heard a jungle cat prowls here too. Isn’t it dangerous?”

I grin. “Only if you’re a fool.”

“But you’re not a fool,” he teases.

I wave a hand. “It stays in the jungle, not by the beach. It’s safe as long as you don’t cause too much trouble.”

“But it must come near the village at night, right?” His eyes are wide, but he doesn’t sound alarmed, only curious. “In other countries, man-eating tigers are drawn to humans. And you’re all alone out here.”

“I can protect myself. But thank you.” I smile sweetly, resting my chin on a hand. “I appreciate the concern.”

He laughs, amused by the syrup in my tone. “Good thing you know how to use a knife.”

I grin, but I don’t tell him that even this machete is pointless against a feral predator with claws, teeth, and an empty belly.

Once he’s finished the coconut meat, he glances down at his watch, shoulders stiffening with alarm.

“I have to go,” he says, as if he needs my permission. Then he flashes me another handsome beam, dazzling and cheerful. “Thanks for the company, Diana.”

He leaves a bill on the counter and turns away, hands shoved into his pockets, gait quick. I watch him go with a tiny wave, taking care not to lean too far out, not to look too excited.

Once his silhouette has become a speck in the distance, I lean back with a quiet exhale. Here I am again, silent and lonesome, the flies buzzing against an empty bowl.

That’s the great thing about handsome strangers. You know you’ll never see them again.

—

I wake to moonlight on my face and a faint drumbeat in my ears.

I lie there, disoriented, my body fluttering between consciousness and slumber. That sweet melody might be a dream or the aftertaste of a nightmare. My mother had told me stories of monsters who gathered in the night, throwing parties and bonfires where they’d roast all the little children they’d eat. But my sleeping mat is hard against my hip and the air is sticky and humid, too warm for comfort. These sensations are real, not those ghost stories.

But the noise is real too. It hammers against my skull, not loud enough to be deafening, but loud enough to keep me awake. I crawl past my mosquito net and peek out of the lone window, watching for its source. My window looks out into a sprawl of palm trees, sand, and dark ocean—peace and quiet, no invasion.

The heat hangs over me, as oppressive as insects.

I put on some proper clothes, grab my sandals, and exit my tiny hut. The waves drag across the shore, echoing with high tide, scrambling for purchase. There is no wind tonight, no clouds. The moon is solemn and full, casting light across the entire stretch of beach.

My hut is hidden between a copse of trees and greenery, but it’s a short walk to the rest of the beach. Farther up ahead is a black square: my little store. As I walk onwards, more dots appear in the distance: the other businesses on the main beach.

Night swimmers are rare but not nonexistent. There’s always a drunken fool, a young daredevil, a stupid tourist. Still, they know not to venture too far out to sea. In the blackness, it’s too easy to drown and disappear.

And yet there is no blackness. Up ahead, there is a raging bonfire. Men and women dancing in colorful costumes, with flowers in their hair and a sharpness in their hips. A mini-orchestra of traditional musicians: drummers, string players, a strange flute. Guests in long, flowy skirts and impractical sandals. Bikini tops. Chino shorts. Loose button-ups. Many foreign, but all strangers.

Up ahead, an ugly stone house painted cream. SOFT OPENING written on a giant tarpaulin that hangs from the bungalow eaves.

“Thank you for coming here tonight,” the host announces. “We couldn’t have done this without you. We’ve been so well-received that we decided to expand…”

Applause fills the night. I stand there and sneer, wondering how long until they go bankrupt and close, how long until they get sick of squeezing too-small profits, how long until their guests get bored and chase the next exotic island.

And besides, this is a fool’s welcome. Light and noise shine like a beacon in the night. The last time a big businessman tried this, he attracted predators.

Well, it’s not my job to warn them.

I spin on my heel and return to my hut, comforted only when the noise of the surf has drowned out their applause.

—

Half of the island stirs awake before dawn. As the fish gather in the dark water, the fishermen row out into the sea, accompanied by a single lamp and the remnants of starlight. Cool wind approaches with the rising tides. The sky is bruise-colored, motionless, free of clouds. It’s to this silence that I wake, have a leisurely breakfast, set up shop. The tourists are still asleep and the beach is empty, as if suspended in time.

Sometimes I think that being born here is worth it, just for mornings like this.

But today, there’s an electric tang to the air. An incoming storm, perhaps? The beach is too quiet. The water is too dark and deep. The birds have not begun their song.

And then, once the sun rises, the wailing starts.

 

—

 

This isn’t the first time we’ve had an animal attack. I told Jericho that it stays in the jungle, not in the beach, because I didn’t want to scare him. But that’s not true. The beasts have been here long before my ancestors even settled on this island, long before humankind even had a name.

The scientists assume it’s some sort of jaguar. The other villagers scare their children with stories of the giant crocodile, the fearsome buwaya, who swallows naughty kids whole. The tourists exchange campfire stories about some monster in the jungle, hidden in the shadows of the trees, invisible save for glowing eyes and sharp teeth.

Nobody knows what it looks like, because nobody lives to tell the tale.

Growing up, my mother had told me that I would be safe as long as I respected nature. I am a woman of this island. The sea is my blood and the clouds are my hair. The sand forms my skin. This creature and I share a kinship, a sense of belonging. It must understand that I belong here as much as it does.

And that is why I fear for those who don’t.

 

—

 

By sunrise, the beach is crowded. But there’s a nervous energy to the tourists. Even from afar, I can read their body language: hunched shoulders, limbs tucked close, shuffling feet. Indistinct voices fill the air. A few local men jog across the sand, barefoot as they carry giant fishing spears. They disappear through the crowd; everyone allows them a wide berth.

I’m already halfway through setting up shop for today. But the curiosity nags at me. So I throw a giant cloth over my stall and then head towards the main beach.

The crowd is too thick to wade through. A pair of foreign women clutch each other right in front of me. They’ve thrown cover-ups over their scant sleeping attire. A couple of other locals chatter amongst themselves by the surf. I recognize them as storeowners by the main beach. When I catch their eyes, they turn away, their whispers falling into a softer hush.

It’s irritating, but I never got along with them anyway. Instead, I turn to an older woman who I recognize as one of the beach hawkers.

“What happened?” I ask her, approaching.

The woman clicks her tongue, a tray of shells balanced on her head to shield herself from the sun.

“A snake got into the new resort,” she replies, leaning towards me. She wrinkles her nose. “One of the tourists found it in his rooms. They’re trying to get it out now.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Only of shock.” She chuckles, but then her face sobers. She lowers her voice further, as if to share a secret. “It was huge, they say. A man-eater. The sir’s trying to do a headcount of everyone but it’s been near impossible with this mess. Worst of all, the guests had different accounts. There might have been two giant snakes, even three…”

When the tourists go snorkeling in the ocean, they sometimes encounter sea snakes, tiny colorful things that dance underwater along with them. But those are nothing compared to the giant serpents that still slither around the jungle, hidden in trees and on the mossy forest floor. The villagers keep fires on at night to deter them, and they generally don’t like large crowds, so most of us have forgotten that they exist. But five years ago, a serpent had devoured one man’s pen of pigs, and even before that, a child had gone missing. If they’re getting braver…

All the guests of the new resort have gathered on the beach, but everyone else is hiding elsewhere. Besides the onlookers, everyone else must figure that they’re safer indoors. I huff.

There’s a loud shout. One, two, three. Men and women scattering in all directions. The crowd thins. Three local men come running out of the building, jabbing their spears in front of them. A giant serpent—about ten feet long—slithers away, hissing, its tail coiled and raised. But it can’t manage the barrage on all sides. They taunt and poke at it, forcing it out of the resort and deeper into the forest. Guests flee. Others squeal. The snake wraps its tail around one spear, and then yanks a man down to the ground. He yells.

Chaos erupts. Two men alone aren’t enough to ward off the giant beast. Right as the snake wraps its thick tail around the man’s leg, threatening to break it into pieces, a third figure picks up his fallen spear and bats at the snake. It hisses, annoyed at the intrusion, but only squeezes tighter.

The third stranger finally comes into view. It takes me a moment to recognize the flowy blue shirt, the mess of dark curls. Jericho.

He jabs at the snake, fencing it like a human opponent. It’s ridiculous, and now my heart rises to my throat, ready to burst. When the snake releases the first man and dives at him, I almost shout. But he dodges gracefully, and instead rolls to the other side of the beach, nearer the water.

The other two men taunt the snake again, hoping to get it deeper into the woods. But it’s set its sights on Jericho, and he refuses to give up. He’s separated from the rest of them now, with his back to the sea and this serpent at his front. One man, with only a single spear.

The other two hack at its tail, but it flicks aside their spears like they’re nothing. When the serpent opens its mouth wide, Jericho lunges.

I scream. It must be me, because it’s my own voice, my own arms reaching out.

But the spear shoots into the snake’s mouth. It swallows, chokes on the blades. As it turns, desperate to wriggle free, the other men finally run towards its head and take their turns to slash.

I run off before it can stop moving.

—

The locals spend the rest of the morning cleaning up the beach and getting rid of the giant serpent’s corpse. The resort manager marvels at it, daring to run his fingers along its shimmering scales. Jericho gets a lot of applause, some pats on the back. The local men throw their arms over his shoulders and invite him out to drinks.

I watch from a distance.

By noon, the snake corpse is gone, though only half of the crowd has returned to the beach. The other locals have returned to their jobs. Just another day on this island, beholden to nature.

But Jericho sits on a piece of washed-up driftwood, his back to the ocean, his gaze to the beach. People-watching.

“So you’re a hero now,” I say, walking up to him. He doesn’t visibly startle, but he blinks, turns his head slowly, and then grins at me in recognition. I hate the way that handsome smile prods at my chest, forcing me to smile back.

I never thought I would see him again. And now here is: a fixture on this island. He’s spilled blood on the sand.

He laughs.

“Not really,” he says. “I just… jumped in. I couldn’t keep watching.”

“You said you were bad with knives.”

He ducks his head, almost shy. “Blame it on beginner’s luck? Foolish bravery?”

“You killed a giant serpent.”

“I didn’t do it alone.”

“Where are you from?”

The non-sequitur catches him off-guard, but he answers anyway. “I grew up in the city but technically my mother’s family came from the next island.” He exhales. “Although they left it when she was just a baby. I’ve only been able to come back recently.”

“Now?” I ask. Why now? I had assumed he’d been on a vacation, but why is he sitting alone out here? Where is his family? His friends? His girlfriend, if she exists?

“You know what,” he leaps to his feet and dusts off his hands, “I’m glad you’re here. I was going to pass by again anyway.”

“I’ve saved you a trip, then.”

He grins, all straight white teeth. “And I was going to apologize for being presumptuous. Yes, you’ve saved me half a trip. But I wanted to see the rest of the island anyway. You said no other people stay there?”

I nod. “Just me.”

“Great.” Then he tilts his head, slightly embarrassed, as if he’s forgotten that I must have had a good reason for coming here. “Well, if you’re returning to your stall, do you mind if I walk with you?”

“You’re going to explore the northern side all alone?”

His sculpted brows are raised. “There aren’t any giant snakes there, are there?”

I shake my head. “Beginner’s luck doesn’t happen twice, you know. I’ll go with you.”

His face brightens even with that apologetic tone. “You don’t have to. You must be busy.”

“Oh, please. Nobody’s going to wander to my stall today. Not after that fiasco.”

There’s something comforting about walking next to another human being, another living creature. Our elbows don’t dare brush, but he matches my leisurely pace, and he’s close enough that I could reach for his arm if I wanted to. I’ve spent so long alone on my little corner of the island that I’ve forgotten what this is like: my hyper-awareness of the soft hitch of his breath, the heat emanating from his skin, the solid presence of him casting a shadow over me.

He’s chatty, but I already knew that. He’s got a pleasant voice, low and smooth, like a birdsong over the noise of waves. I don’t remember the last time I talked this much and for this long; soon my throat is dry and my cheeks are hurting from my smile.

The main beach recedes behind us. I was right. Nobody lingers this far out, and my closed-up stall is just as still as when I left it. Instead of stopping by, we keep going, aiming to trace out the rest of the beach on foot. It ends on rocky crags on the far side, the waters too deep and violent for swimming, but Jericho says he wants to see it anyway. Besides, we’ll be safe together, right? Him with his sense of adventure, me with my experience.

We follow the curve of the surf. Our feet are noiseless on the sand. A seabird circles the sky, desperate for fish. A small breeze rustles our hair and the palm trees on our right side—the entrance to the forest. In the silence of this desolate beach, the leaves seem like they’re whispering.

And up above, the sun burns, naked as it hangs in a cloudless sky.

“I don’t understand why they don’t expand past this point,” Jericho says, mildly huffing. He runs a hand through his dark hair, keeping it away from his glinting forehead. “This place is beautiful.” He squints into the sea. “There are no more nets out here either.”

I shrug. “The islanders have a superstition,” I say. “We only inhabit half of this island and leave the other half to nature, clean and untouched. It’s a deal our ancestors made with the ancient gods. As long as we learn to share, then our catch will be bountiful, and our children safe.”

“Is your stall on the border? Or is it on the upper half?”

My smile is rigid. “Nobody else dares go farther than I do. That’s why I’m there, you know. I am a sign to turn back.”

“Not very menacing, if you ask me. You seemed more like a sign to stay.”

It’s a clear joke. Flirtatious. I laugh along, even though my voice catches. We’ve spent two days together now. And I no longer have the desire to pretend to be anyone else.

I wonder when he’ll leave. If he’ll leave at all.

“Okay, be honest with me.” He holds out his palms. “The real reason why nobody wants to expand is because of wild animals and lack of resources, right? You’ve already built your old village near the main beach, so you don’t see reason to move. And if the snakes are brave enough to enter a resort full of people, then they’re probably ready to devour anyone who enters their territory.”

I laugh.

“I’m just saying,” he adds again. “This place is dangerous. I understand that. You’re probably the only person brave enough to stand here all alone. You’re from the village; you know all their customs. And you know everything about this island.”

“Yes. And?”

“And you’re kind enough to walk with me.” He smiles again, even brighter this time. “If I walked here alone, I’d probably be mauled within minutes.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“My point is,” he pauses and rests a hand on my shoulder. I don’t flinch. I just freeze, my heart in my throat. “My point is that you’re amazing, Diana. You’re exactly what I need. I kept thinking about it after the snakes attacked. I don’t know anything about this island. I don’t know anything about my heritage. But with you, it can be possible.”

His eyes are alight with boyish joy. His palms are still warm over my shoulders, but I don’t want to pull away. Not even as my heart rapidly sinks into my gut.

“What can be possible?” I whisper.

“My father is the type to slash and burn. Growing up, he always taught me to take what’s yours. But I never believed in that. What I believe in is coexistence.” His thumb digs into the edge of my collarbone. He must mean it to be soothing, but the novelty of human touch has worn off. Now my entire body freezes, frigid as a block of ice.

It’s been so long, I think, since someone has dared to reach out to me like this.

“I was starting to think the resort was a big mistake,” he continues, eyes wrinkled at the edges. It’s the first flaw I’ve seen on his face, and yet the age only adds more charm. He looks more human now, more fragile in the sunlight. “But no, it’s just a matter of trial and error. You’ve taught me so much. If we’re all as careful as you are, then there’s no need to fear the northern half of the island. There’s no need to fear anything.”

The breeze dies. The world goes stock-still, quiet as a fishbowl. Right now the humidity is thick enough to drown. But I can’t feel anything, can’t hear anything but the roaring of my own heart.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

He drops his arms. They land at his sides with a dull thud. His smile falls into something apologetic.

“I’ve been scoping out the northern half because my family has wanted to develop it for the longest time.” He shrugs. “The mayor said it would be impossible, but he said I was welcome to try. So many others have failed before, but that’s because they don’t listen.”

“And you do?”

He smiles again, smaller this time. “I will. I’d listen to you, and to anyone you’d want me to.”

He will listen to me because I’m a woman of this island. The sea is my blood and the clouds are my hair. The sand forms my skin. I belong, and he does not. And so I will share.

“Then let me tell you a story,” I say, reaching for him. He jolts when I grab his palms, but he doesn’t pull away. I won’t let him. “You said you would listen. So let me show you how the men cried, all the other times this story ended before.”

A tremor wracks me from head to toe. The splitting pain starts, first from my skull, then behind my eyes, then in the soles of my feet. In the heat of noon, I feel as if I’m drowning, freezing in arctic water, held aloft only by the warmth of Jericho’s hands. When I open my mouth, my voice comes out hoarse. My teeth chatter. I taste blood.

His eyes widen. Jericho pulls away, but I don’t let him. His palms, so smooth, so warm, are trapped in my claws.

I move to kiss him, the way I’ve always wanted to do, the way I’ve desired from the very beginning. He turns away, but I move to kiss him, because he said I was a sign to stay.

There is no more breeze now. No birds. No fish. No serpents. Nothing and nobody to hear as I devour him, his bones snapping between my teeth, his body forevermore a part of me. A part of the island.