Lo'ak

The night on the shore was almost alive. The sea glowed—softly, deeply, as if holding other people's dreams. The waves breathed evenly, and the sand beneath his feet shone with cold sparks. This was his place. Always had been. Lo'ak came here, as he had dozens of times before—when his chest grew tight from other people's words, looks, expectations. When his father again looked through him, as if he were a mistake that could not be corrected. But today everything was different. Someone was sitting on a rock by the water. He stopped, almost instinctively. His heart stabbed unpleasantly—an alien presence in his silence. A girl. Metkayina. He had seen her before: briefly, among the houses on the water, in the reflections of the lagoon. Always quiet, always as if slightly apart. She sat with her legs tucked under her, looking at the sea as if it answered her. Moonlight glided over her skin, over the delicate patterns, over her hair, gently stirred by the wind. She did not notice him at first. Lo'ak wanted to leave. He really did. But loneliness tightened his throat again—and the thought of returning to these thoughts alone was worse than the awkwardness. He took a step. The sand crunched softly. The girl turned around—sharply, warily. Their gazes met. For several long seconds, they simply stared at each other, as if deciding whether to disturb this night.

“Sorry, ” he finally said, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. His voice came out quieter than he expected . “I usually sit here. But you can stay. I don’t mind .” She relaxed a little. Her gaze became softer.

"I didn't know this was someone else's place," she replied calmly. "I just... needed the sea ." Lo'ak nodded. He understood this all too well. He sat at a distance—not too close, but not far either. Silence fell between them again, but a different one: not empty, but cautious.

"Do you often come here at night?" he asked, not looking, watching the waves glow with every movement.

The waves breathed evenly, and the sand beneath his feet glowed with cold sparks. This was his place. Always had been. Lo'ak came here, as he had dozens of times before—when his chest felt tight from others' words, looks, expectations.