Then that smile returned, crooked, effortless, infuriatingly charming, boyish. “Come on. Let’s head back. It’s getting dark.”
Sofia nodded, paddling after him toward the line-up. Her chest felt lighter. Her pulse steadier. Whether it was the Blue Mind effect or the Ilias effect, she wasn’t sure. And maybe she didn’t want to know the difference. Not yet.
15
ILIAS
Papaoutai - Stromae
Drivingfrom Agadir to Imsouane gave Ilias too much time to think, mostly about the future of Azul.
His father had included a clause in the will stating that the surf school must always prioritize the local community over profit. According to the lawyer, it was José Antonio’s way of protecting Imsouane from overtourism and giving back to the village that welcomed him with open arms more than thirty-three years before. He’d written the will the year he founded Azul and never changed a word in twenty years.
And yes, Azul had raised him and Amira too. They’d learned to surf there, built their childhoods around it, shaped their lives through it. Azul had given him everything he loved about who he was.
And yet, it had also destroyed their family.
His father’s obsession with the school had slowly erased anything that wasn’t Azul. First his mother. Then him and hissister. And then the final blow—discovering he’d been lying to all of them.
Imsouane was his mother’s home, the quiet fishing village where she’d met his father. It held Africa’s longest right-hand wave, The Bay, perfect for longboarders like Sofia, and the heavier Cathedral, always Ilias’ favorite when the conditions cooperated. Mid-March swells weren’t guaranteed though, not that he was here to surf anyway. He’d actually been enjoying his forced break in Ericeira with Sofia, another reason this sudden trip to Morocco felt irritatingly timed.
After the break in with the surf boards, Ghita needed help with rebuilding the stock and he had decided to fly down to Morocco for a couple of days to help her out.
When he pulled up outside Azul, the office right in front of the beach, Ghita burst through the door like she’d been waiting all morning.
“Hello, boss,” she said, squeezing him tight.
“How are you? How’s Azul? Any new kids signed up?” he asked, stepping inside.
The office looked like every surf school he’d ever seen. Functional, bland, lacking any sort of personality. He immediately thought of Salacia office’s warm, intentional aesthetic. Sofia made every detail matter. Maybe she could help here as well.
“I’m good. Azul is… doing okay. And no, no new kids.”
“Fantastic,” he muttered, sinking into the desk chair. Ghita hopped up on the edge of the desk.
“Have you thought about what I sent you?” she asked hopefully.
“Yeah. It’s a solid idea. I’m just not sure we can pull it off with that clause in the will.”
She pointed toward the countdown taped to the wall: 5 months, 5 days. The time left until the two-year restriction expired. Only then could he and Amira take full control.
“We could make it work,” Ghita insisted. “We could actually grow Azul. Use your and Amira’s names, build a legit surf retreat. Uncle never monetized your fame, but we can. Responsibly.”
“Sure. Maybe. But—” Ilias slouched, rubbing his temples. “Look, an international surf camp sounds great, but I don’t want Imsouane turning into Taghazout more than it already has. Teaching kids is what Papá wanted. And I love that. Azul gave so much to the community, to us. But we’ve basically been running a charity for two years… and honestly he probably did the same for the twenty before it. I just don’t want to keep pouring money into something that belonged to someone who—”
He stopped. Ghita’s face softened. She’d always loved his father, even after learning the truth. While he—no matter how many therapy sessions he did—still thought that his father could have done things way better than he did.
“Ilias… It won’t become Taghazout,” she said gently. “There’s a sustainable way to do this.” She brightened suddenly. “I looked at your girlfriend’s business. Sofia’s not doing mass tours. Ten people max. Four days a week. Slow and intentional. We could do the same. Curated retreats, quality over quantity.”
“You’ve been stalking my girlfriend?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. The word girlfriend still felt new in his mouth. “Anyway, you know Amira and I aren’t settling here forever. Spain, Morocco, Australia… We've been nomads our whole lives. I don’t want to feel trapped here because of a business. The past two years have already been painfully hard to deal with.”
“I know,” Ghita said, guilt flickering over her features. She always felt bad bringing up long-term plans. But she rallied.“And yes, of course I stalked Sofia. She’s practically family now. And she seems cool. I’d love to meet her. She’d love the Bay.”
Ilias continued with business. He knew Ghita well enough. She was bringing up Sofia because she was trying to brighten up his very pissed mood every time he spoke about Azul and his father. “If we turn Azul into a retreat, we’ll need accommodations, transfers, tours. Not just a shiny new Instagram page. We’d need money, and after the punch, sponsors aren’t exactly lining up.”
“I’m sure they’ll change their minds when they remember you’re actually a good boy.” She grinned. “Plus, I already reached out to some contacts. I’ve got people willing to help with logistics. Accommodations are tricky, but we could partner with one of the locally run hostels for retreats.”
Ilias sighed. “Fine. I’ll think about it. I’ll ask Sofia for advice. She’s honestly a genius at this. And I don’t want to bother Amira while she’s competing in Bali.”
