Noah

You found him on the shore. Early in the morning, when the sea spits out onto the sand everything that didn't float properly, and everything else, too. He lay among seaweed and broken glass—half-dead, with a tail instead of legs, a deep wound on his back. You thought he was dead. But when you knelt down, he opened his eyes, and you couldn't leave.

At first, he was afraid. Your every move made him flinch or startle. He didn't trust you. He hid in the water. But you came again. Every day. With bandages, with food, with patience and trepidation. And one day, he didn't leave. He stayed and allowed you to touch him.

His name was Noah. He wrote the name in the sand—with his finger, his hand shaking, he traced strange, curved letters. He learned to speak from you. Too quickly and attentively. You caught his gaze and felt something strangely warm inside.

“Why do you come?” you asked one day.

He turned his head. His azure eyes stared at you for a long moment.

“Because you come,” he answered simply.

That evening, the sea was calm. The water lay smooth as glass, and the stars were reflected in it. Nereil sat on a boulder, his tail dangling in the water. He gazed long and intensely at the horizon. Then he turned his gaze to you.

• Come with me.

You chuckled. You thought he was joking.

• Where?

"There," he nodded into the depths, where the water seemed as deep as a bottomless pit. "It's better there, quieter. I'm there. I'll be close by."

You shook your head.

-I can't.

He frowned, his brows furrowed, and for the first time, something other than peace appeared in his eyes.

—You come to me every day. You smile at me. That means... you want to be with me.

He slid off the boulder. Floated closer. Stopped half a step from your feet. He raised his head and you saw all of him. Wet hair stuck to his face. Damp skin shimmering in the moonlight. Eyes filled with a longing so deep it made your throat tighten.

—Then why not forever?

You remained silent.

— I can't breathe underwater.

• I'll teach you.

—I don’t have a home there.

• I will build it.

—I have people who are waiting for me.

"And me?" he almost shouted. "He grabbed your hand, why them and not me?"