"He's a local, you said?" my mother asked, eyeing Delmar with the kind of scrutiny only mothers seemed capable of, both suspicious and strangely territorial. She stood near my hospital bed like a queen inspecting a stranger who dared enter her domain.
Delmar had returned during visiting hours. He now sat quietly in the farthest corner of the room, trying to make himself small, which was laughable given how impossibly large he was, his broad shoulders curling slightly forward, knees pulled in, as if he could somehow shrink into the hard plastic chair that groaned under his weight. His gaze was cast down and away, pinned to the window like he wanted to disappear into the sunlight streaming through the glass.
"Yes, Mom," I replied, trying not to grit my teeth. "He's the guy who saved me from the pirates."
I could feel her gaze sharpening, her lips pursed into disapproval as she leaned closer to me and whispered, though her voice still cut through the air with shrill clarity. "He doesn't look like one of the island people. There's something…off about him. I don't trust him."
I didn't answer her right away. My eyes drifted to Delmar. His skin had darkened since our time on the island, no longer that strange, ethereal pale it had been when I first saw him suspended in glass, a being too beautiful and tragic for words. Now, under the hospital's artificial light, he looked more grounded, his skin a sun-warmed olive hue, a little raw, a little dry at the edges. Human enough to blend in, but never enough to belong.
"Just ignore him," I said quietly, firmly, my tone clipped in the way that warned her not to push. But of course, she would. She always did.
I knew she didn't mean to be cruel. But she didn't see what I saw. She saw a stranger who didn't speak, who flinched at loud noises, who wouldn't eat food unless I offered it. She didn't know the quiet devotion behind Delmar's stillness, the way his entire body had tensed the moment she entered the room. His hands were gripping the edges of the chair so tightly now I could see his knuckles straining. And though his eyes were fixed outside, a flicker of emotion crossed his face, hurt, unmistakable, sharp and sudden.
It broke something in me to watch it.
Why couldn't he just leave? Why couldn't he go back to where he belonged, beneath the waves, hidden from this cruel, chaotic world that would only ever misunderstand him? Why couldn't he save me the agony of this impossible feeling?
"When's our flight?" I asked abruptly, turning my face away from Delmar. It felt like tearing muscle from bone, ripping something sacred from my chest. I kept my tone flat, sterile, like I was asking about weather, not the closing of a chapter that had barely begun.
Delmar didn't look at me. He didn't move. But I felt it, the shift in the room, like air being pulled from my lungs. God, why did my first real, soul-deep love have to be with someone who wasn't even human? Why couldn't it have been easier, someone like that barista from the café across the street from my college, the one who wore flannel and winked at me once with a charming dimple?
But even if that barista kissed me, even if he held my hand in public and said all the right things, he would never make me feel the way Delmar made me feel.
Not the way my stomach twisted every time Delmar looked at me like I was his entire world. Not the way my heart cracked open and spilled everything when he sat outside in the sun for hours just to see me one more time. Not the way his silence screamed louder than anyone's words ever had.
Delmar was a storm I didn't know how to survive, and yet I wanted to drown in him. But I couldn't.
I had to harden my heart. I had to turn this feeling into stone. Because no matter how much I wanted him, this, us, it could never be.
Once the discharge formalities were completed and I was no longer bound to a sterile hospital bed, my mother and I made our way through the quiet halls toward the reception. The echo of our footsteps was the only sound apart from the distant ring of telephones. Behind us, Delmar followed, always at a distance, always careful not to intrude. His presence lingered like a shadow, silent yet heavy, like the final pages of a story we weren't ready to end. I didn't know how to feel about it. A part of me wanted him closer, aching for the warmth and the strange calm his nearness brought. But the other part, the part that knew this couldn't last, kept its distance.
Outside the hospital, the late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden shadows across the pavement. We waited by the curb for a taxi to the airport. Delmar remained with us, but always at that respectful distance, his posture stiff and uncertain. He tugged uncomfortably at the secondhand clothes we'd managed to get him, ill-fitting, rugged garments that itched against his sea-worn skin. It pained me to watch him like this, out of place, exposed to a world that would never understand him. His body, all sharp lines and ethereal strength, stood out against the drab backdrop of the street. And the people, God, the way they stared. Their gazes weren't kind. Women lingered with too much interest, their eyes skimming over him like he was some kind of creature in a zoo.
"Why is he still following us?" my mother asked, her voice sharp as she slipped into the back seat of the taxi. "Does he want money?"
"No, Mom," I snapped, sharper than I intended. My jaw clenched. I hated how she made him small with a single careless question. He wasn't following us for charity. He wasn't here to beg. If anything, I owed him everything.
Delmar stood by the bus stand like a ghost, looking lost in a world not his own. The collar of his shirt was too tight, the fabric too coarse. My heart cracked as I watched him fidget like a child trying to fit into a grown man's clothes.
"Get in," I said at last, the words slipping from my throat before I could second-guess them. He hesitated, then approached with tentative steps, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. God, why did someone so dangerous have to look so heartbreakingly gentle?
He climbed in and fumbled with the seatbelt, drawing a long, irritated sigh from the driver. Eventually, the driver reached back and clicked the belt into place for him with a grunt.
"Is he mental?" my mother whispered from beside me.
My blood boiled. "No, Mom! He's completely fine. Can you just shut up for a second?"
I couldn't stomach that word, mental. It was the same word she hurled at me when I was a child who didn't fit the mold she built. Are you mental, Kash? she would ask every time I veered from the path she wanted. The memory scalded me. I clenched my fists and stared ahead.
We reached the airport nearly three hours before the flight. The taxi ride had been heavy with silence, tension thick as fog. As we got out, my mother began to fumble for her bag to pay the driver.
"You go in. I'll be there in a bit," I told her. Her eyes narrowed, ready to protest, but something in my face must have made her pause.
"Be quick," she muttered before turning away and disappearing into the terminal.
I led Delmar to a small canteen tucked in a quieter wing of the airport. We chose the corner booth, hidden from the judgment of strangers. The scent of coffee and fried food clung to the air, a strange contrast to the salty essence that always lingered around him.
He watched me carefully as I took his hands into mine, those large, calloused hands that had pulled me from the brink of death.
"It's time," I said quietly.
At first, he didn't understand. His brows drew together in confusion, his eyes searching mine. But slowly, realization dawned, and when it did, his entire face changed. He shook his head, violently, his grip on my hands tightening. It was like watching someone drown in silence. My heart stuttered in my chest.
"I can't take you with me," I whispered. "You don't belong there… and I don't belong here."
His eyes were wide, filled with a storm of feelings he had no words for. And God, that made it worse. Because this goodbye wasn't just unspoken, it was unfinished.
And it would haunt me forever.
"I'm going to get you a taxi," I said, my voice trembling as I forced the words out. "He'll drop you at a nearby beach. You can make your way back, right?" I tried to sound practical, composed, but it felt like I was peeling skin off my own soul just to say it.
Delmar's mouth opened like he meant to speak, but no words came. His wide, intelligent eyes scanned my face, brimming with confusion, desperation, pain. His brows drew together, lips parting once again, but nothing intelligible emerged. Then, suddenly, a burst of breath, "No!" It wasn't just a sound. It was a plea. A protest. Raw and urgent.
Heads turned. A few people at nearby tables glanced over, curious, maybe even a little alarmed by the strange guttural sound. He was flailing slightly, panicked, trying to reach me not with words but with instinct. I placed a gentle hand over his, hoping to soothe the storm unraveling inside him. His movements stilled for a moment, but the wildness in his eyes didn't fade. It stayed there, fierce and aching, and made it harder for me to breathe.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, ashamed of my helplessness. "I don't even know what's going on in your head. It's all so frustrating…" My voice cracked as I looked away. "Please don't make this harder than it already is. You knew this couldn't last, right? You and me… we're from different worlds. It's safer this way, if we stay out of each other's lives."
He leaned forward across the table until his face was just inches from mine, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath. The scent of salt and brine clung to him, his own ocean musk, elemental and familiar, like the sea itself was trying to whisper into my bones. He raised his hand and cupped my cheek. The tenderness in that touch undid me.
"Delmar, please," I said, reaching for his forearm, letting my hand rest there. His skin was warm, taut, foreign yet comforting. "You can't come with me. I live inland. There's no sea where I'm going. I won't be selfish. You have to return to where you belong."
The lump in my throat made my words thick. The last time I felt like this, so on the verge of breaking, was when I stood over Dad's lifeless body, clutching his cold hand, wishing he would wake up.
Delmar's hand tightened around mine. "Kash," he said, breathless. The sound was hoarse and wet with emotion. The flaps along his throat pulsed open and shut like gills responding to panic. His eyes darted to the people moving around us, and I could tell he knew, he understood the risk. The danger of being seen for what he was.
"Please," I murmured, standing slowly, "people are watching. I don't want them to find out what you are. I couldn't protect you if they did."
He looked around, troubled and confused, as if realizing for the first time just how exposed we were. I turned to go, but the moment I took a step, he stood and enveloped me in a hug.
It wasn't just any hug. It was desperate. Crushing. Like he thought if he held me tightly enough, he could stop time, stop fate, stop me. His hard chest pressed against mine, the muscles of his body curling around me like armor. His head dipped beside mine, and I could hear small, broken clicks in his throat, his language, perhaps. Something ancient. Something I couldn't understand but felt like a song of sorrow and longing.
His lips moved. "Kash," he whispered again. It was the only word he had ever truly learned. And it was my undoing.
He looked into my face, into my eyes, searching for something. Maybe a promise. Maybe a reason to hope. But I had nothing to give him. Nothing but a choice I hated with every cell in my body.
"I have a flight to catch," I murmured, my voice shaking. I pulled away slowly, and he let go, as if the fight had gone out of him. He stepped back, his hands falling limply to his sides. The look on his face, God, it would haunt me forever. Betrayal. Hurt. Abandonment.
"I live at 812 Pine Bluff Court, Cary, North Carolina. Come find me… if you can," I said, my voice barely holding itself together.
And then I walked away. I didn't look back.
Through the crowd, I could feel him standing there, an anomaly in a world that had no place for him. He was like a piece of the sea, marooned on land, slowly drying out under the weight of strangers' stares and a goodbye that felt like a death.
Would he ever come to find me? Probably not. How could he? He couldn't even speak our language. He could never cross thousands of miles of distance, goacross border to find me. Ours would become just another story the sea swallowed. Maybe I would never find that spark again. Never want another man the way I wanted him.
Did I regret my decision?
No.
Because sometimes, what's right isn't what you want. And love, true love, sometimes means letting go.
Delmar would always have a place in my heart. A part of me would long for him forever, search for him in the eyes of every man I ever met. But I would not be disappointed if love never came again.
Because I had it once.
And somewhere out there, it still exists.