The ocean always fascinated me.
I don't even know when it started. Somewhere between school excursions, late-night walks, and the days when the inside of my head felt like a cracked glass about to shatter. The waves never judged. Never shifted moods. Never lied. They just moved—steady, breathing in a rhythm that made sense when nothing else did.
When my thoughts scattered, the sea didn't ask me to explain.
It just let me breathe with it.
Living near Bondi helped. I could escape whenever I felt my mind starting to split sideways. Mornings were usually the same: run, sand in my socks, salt in my hair, boxing drills after school. Sweat, bruises, and the ocean keeping everything stitched together.
Sometimes… it really felt like the waves leaned in when I did.
Like the water was listening.
Which is funny, really.
Because the same ocean that kept me sane would be the one to swallow me whole.
Hello. My name is Elara.
And this is the night the world tipped.
---
Classes ended late, and I rolled my bike out of campus feeling like a half-broken action figure. My arms ached from drills; Coach said I had "rage potential," which I think meant I punched like someone negotiating with trauma.
I was halfway down the hill, fantasizing about microwaved noodles and ice packs, when my phone buzzed.
MIA: heyyy boxing champ
MIA: whatcha doing tonight 💋
Of course it was Mia.
If sunshine and filtered selfies had a spokesperson, it'd be her.
"Mia," I texted, "hey."
She called immediately.
"Guess what," she chirped. "We're going on a yacht tonight."
I braked so hard my bike squeaked. "We?"
"Me, Tanya, June—maybe Kassy if she stops pretending to have morals. And you."
"I have an assignment due tomorrow."
"You'll live. It's just a cute chill thing. No guys, no drama, ocean breeze… main-character lighting." A pause. "Plus, you've been ghosting. People are starting to think you died."
Ouch.
"I'm not the party type."
"You don't have to be! Just wear something pretty and exist. I won't make you film anything. Probably."
I didn't have the energy to argue.
"What time?"
"Dock at six. Something flowy. And Elara? No gym clothes. I beg."
"Fine."
"YES. You won't regret this!"
Bold of her to assume.
---
Home was a disaster zone. Boxing wraps on the chair, half-dry jeans hanging off my bed, my entire desk one stiff breeze away from collapsing into chaos. The only calm thing was the photo on my shelf.
Gran and tiny-me at the beach.
I was laughing. She was pretending not to.
"I'll be fine," I told the frame. "It's just a stupid boat party."
If Gran were alive, she'd probably squint at me and say, "Better come back in one piece."
The photo didn't answer, but the room felt slightly warmer—like someone was listening anyway.
---
I changed three times.
Dress one: too much shoulder.
Dress two: too much effort.
Final outfit: black jeans, white crop top, jacket for comfort—simple but not invisible.
Lip gloss. Waterproof mascara. Nothing else.
I wasn't planning to cry.
Zipping up my pouch made something twist under my ribs—tight, cold, like a small warning.
I ignored it.
---
The taxi ride was quiet.
The closer we got to the water, the heavier the air felt.
City noise faded.
Lights thinned.
The ocean smell grew sharper—cleaner, deeper—and under it was something else.
A weight.
A presence.
Like the sea wasn't just there.
Like it was waiting.
When I stepped out at the dock, string lights blinked across the yacht, music spilling out in neon rhythm.
A warm ripple brushed across my skin.
Not heat.
Not breeze.
A recognition.
I shivered.
Probably just temperature change.
Probably.
---
"ELARA!"
Mia's voice could summon demons. She sprinted over in a glitter dress that probably had its own PR team.
"You look so cute!" she squealed. "Come on, come on—the others are inside."
"I didn't know there were… others."
"Oh, you'll be fine."
Her smile was too bright to trust.
The deck was crowded with people I barely knew. Selfies, alcohol, shouting. Someone yelled, "fighter girl!" and Mia introduced me like I was a novelty act.
I drifted toward the railing.
The sea stretched out—dark, wide, eerily still.
The longer I stared, the more wrong it felt.
Like the ocean wasn't reflecting the lights…
It was looking back.
A wave slapped the hull—sharp, intentional.
Cold water splashed my fingers.
A warmth pulsed through my chest in response, soft and unsettling.
As if someone whispered:
you're not alone.
I gripped the railing harder.
Tired, I told myself.
Just tired.
---
Time blurred. Music. Loud laughter. Too many faces.
Then headlights reflected on the waves.
A smaller boat pulled up.
Three people climbed aboard.
Zeke.
Ari.
Dani.
My stomach dropped straight to my shoes.
"Look who showed up!" Mia called.
I stared at her, betrayal punching through my ribs. "Why are THEY here?"
She smiled—tight, fake. "Relax. Old friends reconnecting. Don't be weird."
Old friends.
Right.
They were the reason I ate in stairwells for three years.
Something under my skin went cold.
I glanced at the water again.
The surface rippled.
The dark shifted.
Like something massive had turned its head.
Watching.
Waiting.
Not threatening.
Just… waiting.
And deep in my chest, a pressure clicked into place.
Tonight wasn't a party.
It was the beginning.
The moment the world held its breath—
and the sea chose me.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧