A Mermaid for the Lonely

The Pull of a Heart

Sirène floated in the cool, salty waters, her silver eyes gazing upward at the rocky shore where Lyam had spoken to her only moments ago. His words still echoed in her mind, stirring currents of thoughts she wasn't accustomed to. Danger. Secrecy. Humans speaking of mermaids, of legends that, for them, were as distant as the moon. But here she was, a part of those stories, flesh and scales, breathing life into their myths.

She should have known better.

Interacting with humans had never been wise, not for her kind. The sea was a world apart, a place of secrets that didn't mingle with the affairs of those on land. The ocean had always been her home, its rhythms her only companion. The calls of the waves had sung to her since the day she was born, pulling her deeper into their embrace. And yet, despite all of this, something else had been pulling her in a different direction lately—a pull toward him. Toward Lyam.

Sirène dipped beneath the surface, the water enveloping her in a familiar embrace as her mind swirled with questions. Why had she allowed herself to get so close to him? She had spent years, lifetimes even, wandering the sea alone, with only the lost souls of sailors and pirates to occupy her thoughts. She was a guide, a creature of the depths, tasked with giving peace to those who had perished beneath the waves, not with attaching herself to a human on the surface.

But Lyam was different. He wasn't lost at sea—he was very much alive. And yet, she had felt that same pull toward him, that same instinct that had always told her when to guide a soul to rest. 

But Lyam wasn't meant to be led to peace. He was meant to live, to remain on land, with feet firmly planted in a world that wasn't hers.

Then why does it feel like he's part of mine?

Her thoughts troubled her as she moved silently through the water, her long pink hair floating around her like seaweed. There was something about him that reached out to her, like a current beneath the surface she couldn't resist. It was more than her curiosity about human emotions, more than her fascination with the strange feelings that Lyam expressed. It was something deeper, a pull as strong as the tides themselves. It was how she always knew when he needed her. When she had felt his presence on the cliffside that day, it hadn't just been chance. Something had guided her to him.

The more she thought about it, the more it frightened her.

Her kind didn't get involved with humans for a reason. The stories of merfolk venturing onto land, taking human forms, and living among men always ended in tragedy. Some were lost forever, forgetting who they were and fading into the air like mist. Others were hunted, captured, or worse. The sea always called them back, but not all of them made it in time. Sirène had heard those stories as warnings, passed down by the few merfolk she had met in her travels.

And yet, despite knowing this, despite the danger of it all, she kept coming back to Lyam. Her connection to him felt inevitable, as if the sea itself had whispered his name to her.

Sirène surfaced again, her eyes tracing the rocks where Lyam had stood, his words of caution hanging in the air between them. He had told her that the people in town were asking questions, that they were curious, suspicious even, about her. It was something she had expected when she had gone to the festival. Humans were curious creatures, always asking questions, always searching for answers. She had known from the beginning that they would never understand what she was. But Lyam—he understood in his own way. And he had protected her, kept her secret hidden.

But for how long?

Her identity, her world, had always been something she guarded carefully. The few times she had ventured closer to human settlements, it had always been from a distance, her presence undetected. Yet with Lyam, she had allowed herself to be seen. She had let herself be drawn into his world, as if it were a natural thing. And now, the threat of being found out lingered like a storm on the horizon.

Was it wrong to keep seeing him?

The rational part of her knew that it was. She had no business being in his world, no right to walk among humans. Her place was in the sea, guiding souls to their rest, swimming beneath the waves where she belonged. But despite that, the thought of leaving him—of severing the strange, invisible connection that had formed between them—was unbearable.

Why him? she asked herself for what felt like the hundredth time. She had seen many humans before, had watched them from afar, guided their souls when they were lost. But Lyam was different. There was a depth to him, a sadness and solitude that mirrored her own. And somehow, despite their differences, they had found each other.

She dove deeper into the water, the cold currents swirling around her, offering a momentary comfort from the confusion inside her. But the thoughts didn't go away. She kept seeing his face, the way he had looked at her that night at the festival, the way his eyes had softened in her presence. She felt something when she was with him, something she had never felt before. It wasn't the simple curiosity she had once mistaken it for. It was something more, something that scared her in a way she didn't fully understand.

When she surfaced again, Lyam was still there, standing at the edge of the shore, his expression pensive. He had been so careful, so cautious in his words, as if protecting her had become a part of his own existence. But the sadness in his voice had been unmistakable when he spoke about how they could no longer meet as they had. The festival had been a brief moment of shared joy, but it had also exposed the fragility of their connection.

She didn't want to lose that connection.

Lyam's eyes met hers as she swam closer, his face illuminated by the soft light of the setting sun. The warmth of the day had faded, replaced by the coolness of evening. They stood on the edge of two worlds, neither fully belonging to the other, yet somehow bound together.

"I know it's dangerous," Sirène said softly, her voice carrying the weight of her thoughts. "For both of us. But I don't want to stop."

Lyam's gaze softened, and for a moment, the tension between them eased. "I don't either," he admitted quietly. "But we can't keep doing this forever."

She knew he was right. The pull of the sea would always call her back, just as the pull of land would keep him anchored here. They were caught in between, two souls straddling the line between their worlds.

But perhaps, just for a little longer, they could find a way.

"There's something I can show you," Sirène said after a long pause, her voice barely above a whisper. "A glimpse into my world."

Lyam's eyes widened slightly, his surprise evident. "Your world?"

She nodded, the weight of her decision heavy in her chest. It wasn't something she offered lightly. But after everything they had shared, after the pull that had drawn them together time and again, it felt right to show him more. If they couldn't be together on land, maybe, just maybe, he could understand her world a little better.

"It's dangerous," she warned, her voice tinged with the same seriousness she had always carried. "But if you trust me, I can show you."

Lyam's lips quirked into a faint smile, though it was laced with sadness. "I've trusted you this far."

Sirène returned the smile, though her heart ached at the knowledge that their time together was fleeting, that their worlds would always pull them apart in the end. But for now, for this moment, they had something—something fragile, something real.

"Then let me show you the sea," she whispered, the promise of her world lingering between them like the scent of salt on the wind.