Maridaz didn't believe in love at first sight. She didn't believe in much, honestly—not in fairy tales, or horoscopes, or the whispered legends of old sea gods that some of the older Wavemeet folks liked to mumble about after too much wine.
But when Elian moved to town three months ago, she felt something shift.
He had shown up without warning, just before the school year started. No introduction, no parents, no rumors—just a tall, quiet boy with too-perfect cheekbones, ash-blond hair, and ocean-colored eyes that seemed to stare through people instead of at them. He wasn't loud, wasn't popular, and yet everyone noticed him.
Even the teachers were strange around him. Like they didn't quite know how to treat him. Like they'd been warned not to ask questions.
Maridaz noticed everything.
At first, she told herself she was just curious. Just observant. But she caught herself watching him too often—when he sat alone at lunch with his head down, when he walked to class without a sound, when he stood at the window during rainy days, staring at the sea with an expression that was almost… sad.
No one knew where he lived. He never spoke about family. And no one had seen him arrive or leave school—he was just there. Like fog rolling in overnight.
And still, Maridaz liked him. Quietly. Hopelessly.
She never told Jamie. She wasn't sure why. Maybe it felt too delicate, too unreal—like saying it out loud might scare it off.
On the afternoon of her birthday, she passed by the library on her way home from the beach, seashell still pulsing quietly in her pocket. As she crossed the sidewalk, she heard footsteps behind her—light, steady.
"Elian?" she blurted before she could stop herself.
He froze, just a few steps behind her. His eyes met hers, startled—but not angry.
"Hi," she said quickly, feeling her face heat up. "Sorry. I thought you were someone else."
"I am," he said, his voice calm, deep, and strangely distant. "But I am also… Elian."
She blinked. "That's… an interesting way to say it."
He tilted his head slightly. "You were at the beach."
"How do you know that?"
He didn't answer right away. "You smell like salt and wind. The ocean likes you."
That should've been a weird thing to say. But coming from him, it sounded almost poetic.
Maridaz hesitated. "Do you go there often?"
He nodded slowly. "Every day."
"Why?"
"To remember," he said.
She opened her mouth to ask what that meant, but he gave a faint, polite smile and looked past her—toward the ocean in the distance. "Happy birthday," he added quietly.
Her breath caught. "How did you—?"
But he was already walking away, as silent and graceful as always, like he'd never been there at all.
Maridaz stood still on the sidewalk for a long time, heart racing, fingers brushing the shell in her pocket. It pulsed again.
Just once.
She looked toward the horizon. The sky was turning gold, and the waves were rising.