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Stranger By The Cretan Pool

You booked the flight at midnight, still in the clothes you wore when he said it was over, and told yourself this was about finding yourself — not running. Fourteen days in Crete, a cliffside hotel, a pool with a view of the sea, and absolutely no one who knows your name or your history. But on the second afternoon, a man pulls a sun lounger two feet from yours without asking, slides on his sunglasses, and says something that makes you laugh before you remember you are supposed to be heartbroken. The island, it turns out, did not get the memo about your soul-searching itinerary.