It was roughly a seven-hour flight to the Virgin Atlantic Island.

It had left me drained, but the rough landing was the final blow.

My stomach stirred as we touched down, my body rebelling against the turbulence. It was my first time in a flight but somehow I managed to act like I was a regular traveller.

I tried forcing myself to stay composed as we stepped off the jet. My legs felt like they had given up, I had sat all through the flight.

I had heard Pedro mention over the phone that we were going to a beach house.

I had a few moments of solitude to process...