Miles wakes up to the cold, gray light of ear­ly morn­ing, sur­round­ed by the qui­et still­ness of the vine­yard. His body aches from the uncom­fort­able posi­tion he had slept in, and the empti­ness of the place only deep­ens his sense of dis­il­lu­sion­ment. He had wait­ed all night, des­per­ate­ly hop­ing to find the rain­bow-haired girl again, to reclaim the fleet­ing feel­ing of con­nec­tion that had once been so pal­pa­ble between them. But as the sun ris­es and the silence deep­ens, Miles real­izes that she is gone, leav­ing him once again to face the weight of his unre­solved emo­tions. In her absence, the anger toward his broth­er Wyn­ton resurfaces—anger that stems from past humil­i­a­tions and the feel­ing of being aban­doned, emo­tions that have lin­gered far too long.

The air is thick with the sounds of the world wak­ing up, but none of it can ease the storm inside Miles. The vine­yards stretch end­less­ly in front of him, each row of vines seem­ing to mir­ror his own tan­gled feel­ings. As he looks out at the land­scape, he recalls the times he spent with Uncle Clive, a man who had always empha­sized the con­nec­tion between the earth and the human heart. Clive had taught him that both the land and the peo­ple who walk on it car­ry their bur­dens, that the pain of the past is some­thing that can be found in the roots of the very soil beneath them. It was a phi­los­o­phy that had nev­er ful­ly res­onat­ed with Miles until now, as the weight of his emo­tions seems to seep into the land around him, mak­ing it feel as though the entire vine­yard is mourn­ing along­side him.

San­dro, his dog, comes to him, sens­ing his dis­com­fort and offer­ing some com­fort through his qui­et pres­ence. The dog’s famil­iar touch is a small solace, a reminder that some things in life are con­stant. Togeth­er, they share a qui­et moment of long­ing for some­thing they can­not have. Their bond grows stronger in this silence, as Miles real­izes that his search for con­nec­tion might be futile if he con­tin­ues to chase after fleet­ing moments of hap­pi­ness. The girl, the per­fect moments, they all seem out of reach. And now, as he sits in this space of long­ing, he feels more iso­lat­ed than ever before.

Miles’ iden­ti­ty has always been tied to being the per­fect son, the one who nev­er caus­es trou­ble, the one who fol­lows the rules. This iden­ti­ty was carved out by the con­stant com­par­i­son to Wyn­ton, who lived his life with aban­don and chaos. Miles had lived with the pres­sure to be the oppo­site of Wyn­ton, always striv­ing to please, to excel, to be the one who made his fam­i­ly proud. But now, as he reflects on his life, he won­ders if he’s sim­ply been fol­low­ing a path laid out for him by oth­ers, not one he chose for him­self. The schol­ar­ship, the achieve­ments, they all seem hol­low now, a reminder of how much of his life has been lived for some­one else’s approval.

Before Miles can spi­ral too far into these thoughts, the sound of an old Jeep rum­bles toward him, break­ing the silence of the morn­ing. The fig­ure that emerges is Uncle Clive, his face drawn and filled with urgency. His usu­al calm demeanor has shift­ed, replaced with a look of wor­ry that Miles can’t ignore. Clive steps clos­er and deliv­ers the dev­as­tat­ing news, “It’s your broth­er, and it’s bad.” The words hit Miles like a punch to the stom­ach, the world around him blur­ring as he tries to com­pre­hend what’s just been said. For a moment, every­thing stops—the mem­o­ries, the anger, the longing—all of it fades in an instant. In its place is only the ter­ri­fy­ing real­i­ty that Wyn­ton, his broth­er, is in seri­ous trou­ble. Miles’ heart races as the weight of the news sinks in, and with it comes the ter­ri­fy­ing uncer­tain­ty of what comes next.