“Either someone didn’t like the story…” He looks up, gaze locking on mine. “Or didn’t want anyone else to read it.”
I tell myself it’s just a story, another myth swallowed by time. But as the fire pops sharply in the hearth, something deep in my chest responds, like a memory that isn’t mine, waking.
I reach over to close the book slowly, my fingers lingering on the cover.
This isn’t a book of happy endings.
“Tell me again how embodiment is supposed to be a gift?”
Noa stares at the fire, watching as a log breaks from the flame at its center. “It’s not a gift. It’s a… transformation.”
“It sounds like a curse,” I say. “To become what you wield is to be ruled by it.”
Noa looks down, thoughtful but serious. “I know what fire wants. It doesn’t stop. It only consumes.”
A silence settles over us.
“So what does that make me?” I ask quietly. “Water remembers everything. If I become ruled by it… what if I remember so much that I forget myself?”
Noa’s voice softens. “If you forget yourself—even if you forget me—I’ll find you. And I’ll remind you who you are.” He leans down to kiss me, soft and tender, his lips warm and full as I kiss him back.
The fire crackles, but we don’t speak again. Words are no longer needed for what we are both wanting. A reminder of life, of self.
I stand and take his hand, leading him toward my bedroom, silently thanking Teo for asking Roz out again tonight. Inside, I walk over to my bedside table to take out a carefully wrapped package in gold paper.
His eyebrows rise in surprise, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What’s this?”
“Happy birthday, Noa.” I smile at the look of surprise on his face. “Finn told me. I wanted to do something… just for you.”
He sits on the bed, unwrapping the package carefully. Inside is a small silver charm—meant to be sewn into a uniform, tucked somewhere private, where no one else will ever see. It’s a mermaid in profile, hair flowing, one sapphire eye catching the moonlight through the window.Me.
“So I can be with you,” I whisper, “even when I can’t.”
Outside the window, rain begins to fall—slow, steady, and silent as memory.
“It’s perfect.” He traces the outline of the charm with his fingertip. Then he looks up at me suddenly. “I don’t even know when your birthday is.”
I laugh softly. “End of September. I’m not big on birthdays, so I didn’t really tell anyone.”
He reaches out and pulls me toward him, his hand warm around mine. “I promise next year, we’ll celebrate.”
Next year.
The words land like both a gift and a plea.
He kisses me. Feather light. Deliberate.
We take our time. Not the usual fire and heat between us—something quieter. An anchor to each other in the rising tide of change.
He undresses me slowly, like he’s savoring every piece of me. And I do the same.
We stand at the foot of my bed, before he lifts me, laying me down with reverence.
The rain taps against the glass as he kisses me like he has all the time in the world. His eyes say what neither of us wants to acknowledge.
He’s leaving.
The Service. Graduation.
