March 30 – Saturday / Aqua Glide Marine Conservatory, Capital District
Entrance & Echoes
The glass doors of the Ocean light Aquarium slid open with a soft shhhk, letting in the scent of saltwater and clean air-conditioned marble. Jay stood just outside for a second longer, watching the small crowd of families and couples filter inside. It was warm today—the kind of afternoon that invited people to lose time in places like this.
Emma was already waiting near the ticket booth. Pale blue cardigan, dark jeans, a crossbody bag slung low, and her hair loosely pinned. Simple. Thoughtful.
When she saw him, she straightened slightly, then gave the tiniest wave.
Jay approached with a smile that barely showed.
"Didn't keep you waiting?"
"A little," Emma said, then added quickly, "but not in a bad way."
He blinked. "That's new. I thought punctuality was your religion."
She looked away. "I made an exception."
They entered together.
And for a while, they didn't say anything.
Just walked side by side beneath blue glass tunnels and soft lighting.
Letting the calm take over.
Letting the world blur.
The hush of the aquarium was strangely comforting.
Faint blue light filtered through the glass, dancing gently across the floor. Fish of every size and colour drifted past in slow, unbothered movements, as if time meant nothing to them.
Jay stood in front of the main tank, his hands tucked in his pockets, eyes distant. His reflection stared back at him on the glass—sharp suit, perfect posture, calm expression. Too calm. It looked like him, but it wasn't him.
Not really.
Emma stood a few feet away, watching him. She hated this. Not just the silence, but the way it lingered. Like there was always something unsaid between them now. Four months ago, he would've cracked a joke by now. Teased her. Nudged her arm. Looked at her like she mattered.
Now he just stood there. Still. Distant.
So she walked up beside him and broke the quiet.
"You're acting like a ghost," she said bluntly.
Jay blinked. "Is that supposed to be your version of small talk?"
"It's supposed to be honest."
He looked at her. For a second, just a second, the corner of his lips twitched. Then it was gone again. "I didn't realize you missed my haunting presence."
"Jay." Her voice softened. "You're back, but it doesn't feel like you came back."
He didn't answer right away. His gaze returned to the glass, following a school of silver fish that zipped past.
"Everything's the same," he murmured. "The halls, the classrooms, you… even Tyler hasn't changed. But I'm standing here and I feel like I'm in someone else's life."
Emma's expression twisted—half concern, half frustration. "Why didn't you tell us what happened? Where you went? You just disappeared."
"I had to." His voice was low. "Family things. Complicated ones."
"I would've understood." She turned to face him. "We would've. You didn't have to go through it alone."
Jay gave her a small smile. That same polite, too-perfect smile he wore in class. The one that didn't reach his eyes.
"That's the thing, Emma. Some things… you do have to go through alone."
Emma rolled her eyes. "Wow. That's deep. Super poetic. Did you practice that in front of a mirror?"
He let out a breath—a ghost of a laugh.
"There's the real you," she muttered. "One second of sarcasm and I know you're still in there somewhere."
Jay tilted his head. "Why bring me here? You could've just asked that in class."
"Because fish are less judgmental than classmates," she shot back. "And maybe I thought being around something soft and calm might remind you what peace feels like."
Jay glanced around. Blue light shimmered across the ceiling. Families wandered by, kids pressing their faces to the glass, wide-eyed and loud. And yet somehow, it still felt quiet. Intimate.
"I don't know how to go back," he admitted quietly. "To being that guy I was. I don't know if he even exists anymore."
Emma looked at him for a long moment. Then she stepped forward and gently tugged his sleeve.
"Come here."
He raised an eyebrow but followed her as she led him to the next room—a tunnel where glass curved overhead, water above and around them. Sharks glided slowly past, stingrays flapping like lazy kites.
They stood in the center, the world of water spinning gently around them.
"Remember I told you something about this place?" Emma said, tilting her head back to watch the fish overhead.
"…Yeah," Jay said after a beat. "Field trip in middle school. You got scared of the jellyfish."
"I was ten, okay?" she said with a laugh. "You made fun of me the whole day."
"You punched me in the arm."
"You deserved it."
Jay smiled. Not the fake one. A real, tired, genuine one. Emma saw it, and something in her chest loosened.
"I didn't bring you here to force you back to who you were," she said softly. "I just… wanted you to remember that you were happy once. That you can be again."
Jay stared up at the glass ceiling, the glow of the water casting shifting shadows on his face.
"I lost a lot," he said after a pause. "In those four months. Parts of myself, people I trusted… the kind of peace you're talking about—it felt like a luxury I couldn't afford anymore."
Emma's voice was gentle. "You don't have to pretend with me, Jay."
His eyes met hers. For a moment, the mask slipped. Something raw passed between them—unspoken grief, loneliness, fear.
"…That's the hardest part," he whispered. "Not pretending."
Emma didn't respond with words. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him—quiet, warm, familiar.
Jay froze.
And then, slowly, hesitantly, his hands came up and he hugged her back. The tension in his shoulders melted inch by inch. He closed his eyes, leaning slightly into the embrace.
No one spoke for a while.
When she finally pulled back, she looked up at him. "Come back to us, Jay. Even if it's slow. Even if it hurts. We're here. I'm here."
He searched her face like he was trying to memorize it.
Then he nodded, just once.
"I'll try."
She smiled. "Good. Because I missed your dumb jokes. And your fake modesty. And the way you'd always pretend not to care but somehow ended up saving everyone."
"I was never that good," he said.
"You were better than you think."
They walked slowly out of the tunnel together. The aquarium stretched on ahead—bright coral, floating jellyfish, deep-sea shadows.
Jay looked around, taking it in differently now. The weight wasn't gone, but it was lighter.