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It's quiet; each breath a momentary lapse, and the most subtle sounds lost in a vacuum—drowning, still, silent. There is no steady stream of conversation here, or an inexplicable need for small talk. I'm suspended, body within a body, form without function.
For a moment, I ask myself; when did it become easier to breathe in a state of breathlessness? I'm not a masochist, I don't like pain. So when did I start counting in minutes rather than seconds, forcing a breath instead of wanting one?
Then, by instinct, I ask why. Why do I care?
Still not a masochist.
I hug my legs closer to my chest. Despite how cold the water is, my blood is warm, as if stepping out would only make it that much colder. Strands of hair surround my head, weightless, and the shorter ones don't inch over my face like they normally would. For a brief moment, I open my eyes. Without goggles, I'm enticed to close them almost immediately, but I keep them open just long enough to catch the dim cast of moonshine over the tiled walls. And suddenly, with all the reasons I have to stay, I'm even more aware that I can't.
I'm not allowed here anymore, for one more reason than there used to be.
It's midnight.
The second oneis a stranger.
You're off the team.
Coach Hansen's words ring in my head, voice thick with decision rather than the comfortable uncertainty he's had for a year. I recall our conversation from this morning and his leveled brows that only held resolve. 'I'm sorry, Hayat. I can't stall this any longer. We have promising freshmen this year, please understand.'
I don't.
Sorry, Coach. I don't understand.
Struck by a fleeting sense of loss, I miss the approaching shadow. A large splash sounds from the distance, the break in surface sending ripples across the pool. Once again, I open my eyes. It's rare for anyone to enter the swimming complex after training hours. I'd managed to sneak a copy of the keys my first year, and welcomed a lonely presence ever since. This appearance is new.
I faintly make out a figure, arms wide, legs motionless. Starfish, I think to myself. For a while, it doesn't move. I close my eyes. Open. My chest constricts. Oh.
It's closer.
I watch as it swims toward me, steady, precise, not too fast, but not too slow either, as if allowing me the opportunity to move. Should I really be making that assumption? The lack of visibility is frightening, but I keep in place, and I can't tell if it's because I'm curious or if my limbs refuse to keep up with my thoughts.
Before I can measure the distance between us, we're inches apart. I'm fighting to keep focus now, the corners of my eyes squinting in the water, and a hand brushes against mine ever so gently that I wonder if I've imagined it. Then I feel something in my palm. My fingers close around a rubbery band.
Goggles.
I push myself to the surface, taking a deep breath. The figure doesn't follow, and I realize it's waiting for me to wear the goggles. I put them on and dip my head back inside.
The first thing I notice is his gaze. Wide, undisturbed. Clear. He isn't wearing any protection, and yet, he looks straight at me, as if entirely aware of my every feature. The next thing I notice are his clothes. A white shirt, haphazardly unbuttoned in places, and black pants. His feet are bare, no socks, toes out. By the time I've returned my attention to his face, he's smiling. Maybe he thinks I'm checking him out, and maybe that's what makes me forget everything else. But it's the last thing I notice that keeps me underwater.
