We went into the house when darkness fell and the mosquitoes descended. Jiho lay down beside me and covered us with the blanket. He wrapped his body around mine and fell asleep seconds later.

I was wide awake.

When he kissed me, I hadn’t stopped to think before I kissed him back. We were two consenting adults, but no matter how I spun it in my head I knew if we ever got off the island, and people found out what we’d done, there would be repercussions for my actions. As I lay there in the dark with Jiho spooning me I justified that what we had done felt good, and if anyone deserved that, it was us. What we did was our business and no one else’s.

At least that’s what I told myself.

I knelt on one knee wearing Jiho’s baseball cap, my hair pulled back so it wouldn’t get in my way. The curved stick Jiho used to start fires, two small chunks of wood, and a dry nest of coconut husks and grass were spread out on the ground in front of me.

A week or so after we killed the shark, Jiho pointed out that there was one thing I didn’t know how to do. He always made our fires, and he wanted to make sure I could make one, too. He’d been teaching me, and I was starting to get the hang of it, although I had yet to produce anything other than a lot of smoke and my own sweat.

“Are you ready?” Jiho asked. 

“Yes.”

“Okay, go ahead.”