A Mermaid for the Lonely

The Want to Learn

The sky above was an endless expanse of muted gray, and the ocean mirrored its stillness. Sirène remained by the man's side, half-submerged in the water, her silver eyes reflecting the cold, muted light. The weight of his sorrow still clung to the air, thick and unyielding. Sirène felt it pressing against her, yet she didn't fully understand the intensity of it. But her curiosity stirred.

She didn't know how to comfort him. The emotions he expressed were strange, overwhelming things she had never personally felt. But she could ask, and perhaps in asking, she might come to understand him, and the human heart, a little more.

"Tell me," she began softly, her voice blending with the gentle roll of the tide, "why do you feel such grief for her? Is it always this... strong?"

The man blinked, his gaze momentarily shifting from the horizon to her, though his face remained impassive. The dark bags beneath his eyes deepened as if he hadn't slept in weeks. He regarded her for a moment, as though debating whether to answer, then sighed.

"You wouldn't understand," he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the wind. "She was more than just a person to me. She was..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. "She was the part of me that made sense. Without her, there's just... nothing."

Sirène tilted her head, her pink hair drifting like seaweed in the water. "Nothing?" She repeated the word, testing it on her tongue. "But you're still here. You breathe. You move. That isn't nothing, is it?"

A flicker of frustration crossed his face, and he ran a hand through his wet, tangled hair. "It's not about being alive. It's about living without meaning. She gave my life meaning, and now that's gone." His hazel-green eyes, dulled by exhaustion, turned back to the sea. "I can't find anything to fill the emptiness."

Sirène leaned closer, the water rippling softly as her tail shifted. She was trying to comprehend his words, though the concept of living for another person was foreign to her. "And this... emptiness. It consumes you? It makes you want to leave this world?"

His silence was answer enough.

She studied him carefully, her silver eyes narrowing in thought. She didn't know what emptiness felt like. As a mermaid, she had never been bound by human emotions. Her purpose had always been clear—she guided souls lost at sea, unburdened by the complexities of love, grief, or longing. But this man... he was driven by something deeper, something she had never experienced. And that intrigued her more than anything else.

"What was she like?" Sirène asked, her voice quiet but persistent. "This woman who filled your life."

The man exhaled slowly, almost as if the question pained him. His gaze softened, but the melancholy didn't fade. "She was kind. Gentle. She could make me laugh when no one else could." His voice wavered, and he clenched his fists in the sand. "We had dreams, you know? Plans to leave this place, to live freely. But then..."

He swallowed hard, the weight of his words hanging heavy between them. "The sea took her from me. Just like it took everything else."

Sirène watched him, her expression unreadable as usual. Yet beneath her calm surface, a deep curiosity stirred. "You blame the sea?" she asked, her voice edged with something close to surprise. "For her death?"

"Yes," he said bitterly. "It swallowed her whole. It didn't care. It never does."

She blinked, considering this. "The sea is not cruel," she murmured, almost to herself. "It simply is. It doesn't choose who lives or dies."

His eyes snapped to hers, a hint of anger flaring in their depths. "Easy for you to say," he retorted, "you're part of it."

Sirène didn't flinch. Instead, she held his gaze, her voice soft but steady. "I am, yes. But that doesn't mean I control it." Her fingers lightly traced the surface of the water, creating small ripples. "The sea is a force, just like life or death. I only guide those it claims."

The man's anger ebbed as quickly as it had flared, and he looked away, his shoulders slumping again. He seemed exhausted—emotionally, physically, and mentally—yet Sirène could see how the questions lingered behind his eyes, unspoken.

She allowed the silence to stretch before speaking again, her voice thoughtful. "You don't seem surprised by me."

His brow furrowed, and he glanced at her again. "What do you mean?"

"I'm a mermaid," she said simply, gesturing to the shimmering pink tail that swayed lazily in the water. "My kind are not common. You didn't react to me as most humans would. Fear, disbelief—there was none of that."

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes tracing the outline of her pale skin, her silver eyes, and the pearls woven into her long, flowing hair. A weak smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was a hollow expression, devoid of warmth.

"After everything I've been through," he said quietly, "a mermaid doesn't seem all that strange. Maybe I've already seen too much."

Sirène absorbed his words in silence, watching him with a strange, unreadable intensity. "We are rare," she admitted. "Few reside in each part of the sea, and fewer still make contact with humans. I seldom meet your kind... I don't understand you."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by her admission. "What do you mean?"

"I don't feel what you feel," she said, her tone even but tinged with an undercurrent of something close to frustration. "Grief, sorrow, love—these are things I observe in humans, but I cannot experience them myself. They confuse me."

The man tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "So you've never felt anything? Not once?"

She hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. "No. My purpose is to guide those lost at sea to rest. I do my duty. That's all. But you..." She paused, studying him closely. "You carry something with you, something heavy. I want to understand it."

He let out a bitter laugh, though there was no real amusement in it. "Good luck with that. I barely understand it myself."

Sirène frowned, her silver eyes flickering with faint disappointment. She had expected him to explain, to give her some insight into the mysteries of human emotion. But his answer was evasive, much like the man himself.

"Why do you want to die?" she asked bluntly, her voice lacking the delicacy humans might use when broaching such a sensitive topic. "Why throw yourself from the cliff if you can still live?"

His expression hardened, the darkness returning to his eyes. "Because living without her isn't living at all," he said coldly. "It's just... existing."

Sirène considered this. The distinction between living and existing was not something she had ever pondered. To her, life was a continuous flow, like the tides of the sea, moving without pause, without emotion. But this man—he clung to the past, to something intangible. And it fascinated her.

"Perhaps," she said slowly, "there is something else for you. Something beyond this grief."He scoffed, shaking his head. "You don't understand. And you never will."

Sirène was silent for a moment, the weight of his words pressing down on her like the deep ocean currents. Maybe he was right. Maybe she would never understand. But something deep within her stirred, a strange pull she couldn't ignore.

"Then help me," she said quietly. "Help me understand."

The man stared at her, his expression softening for the first time since he had woken. There was something vulnerable in his gaze, something that flickered like a dying flame.

"I don't know if I can," he whispered.

Sirène watched him, her heart—if she had one—filled with an unfamiliar sensation. A quiet resolve settled within her, and for the first time in her existence, she felt something close to determination.

"I'll stay with you," she said. "Until I do."

The man said nothing, but the silence between them shifted, no longer heavy with grief but with the faintest glimmer of hope. Sirène, for all her curiosity, couldn't fully understand what was happening, but she knew one thing for certain: this man, this broken, haunted soul, had changed something within her. And she wouldn't rest until she uncovered what it was.