A Mermaid for the Lonely

Tides of Longing

The wind from the sea stirred the surface of the water, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. In the small hidden alcove they had found days before, Sirène rested against the cool rock, her tail draped lazily over the ledge. The storm had passed, and yet a different kind of tension remained in the air—a tension thick enough that even the silence between her and Lyam felt heavy.

Lyam sat on the opposite side of the alcove, his back against the rough wall of the cave. His fingers absently traced the stone beside him, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sky met the sea. It had been days since the storm nearly claimed his life, but the sense of closeness he'd felt with Sirène during that desperate flight through the water hadn't diminished. If anything, the connection between them had only deepened, though neither of them dared to speak of it openly.

Sirène shifted, her silver eyes flicking toward Lyam, watching him in the fading light. Her curiosity about the human world had grown into something more—an insatiable desire to return to land, to experience what life was like beyond the sea. The festival had only been a taste, but it wasn't enough. She wanted more. Needed more. But Lyam had been hesitant, even resistant, the few times she had broached the topic.

"I want to go back," Sirène finally said, her voice cutting through the quiet, soft but firm.

Lyam's head snapped toward her, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Back? To land?"

"Yes." Sirène sat up straighter, her tail curling beneath her as she faced him fully. "I want to go back, to the human world. I want to experience more of it. There's so much I still don't understand."

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, shaking his head. "Sirène, we talked about this. It's dangerous. You're not meant to live on land, not for more than a short time. What if something happens? You could be discovered, or worse, you could—"

"I don't care about the risks," she interrupted, her silver eyes narrowing in determination. "I've guided souls for centuries, Lyam. I've watched humans live, suffer, and die, but never have I been able to live among them. Not like I did at the festival."

Lyam stood up, pacing in the confined space of the alcove, frustration mounting in his voice. "And that was a special case. You can't just wander into town whenever you feel like it. People will notice. They'll ask questions, and what do we tell them? That you're a mermaid who happens to stroll into town from time to time? No one would believe that. They'd think you're a witch or worse. They'd try to—"

"Why are you so afraid?" Sirène's voice was cool, but there was an edge of impatience. "I've lived for centuries without fear, without emotion, but now... something is different. Something about being with you—being around your world—it's stirred something in me. I can't explain it, but I need to understand it."

Lyam stopped in his tracks, looking at her with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "I'm not afraid for me. I'm afraid for you. Don't you understand? If something happened to you, I—"

"You what?" she asked, her voice softening, though her gaze remained intense.

Lyam hesitated, as if realizing that the words on the tip of his tongue carried a weight he wasn't ready to confront. He sighed, lowering his head. "I don't want to see you hurt."

Sirène blinked, her expression softening for the briefest moment. But the stubbornness still remained, burning just beneath her cool exterior. "I've been alone for a very long time, Lyam. It's not fear that keeps me from the surface, it's loneliness."

He looked at her, his hazel-green eyes darkened with uncertainty. "Loneliness?"

"I am surrounded by the souls of the dead, but none of them stay. None of them are truly with me. I have no one to talk to, no one who understands what it's like to be... separate from both the living and the dead." She paused, her voice faltering just slightly, as if the admission was difficult to speak. "You've given me a glimpse of something different. You're the only one who's made me feel... less alone."

Lyam's expression softened, and he crossed the space between them, kneeling beside her. 

"Sirène, I don't want you to feel trapped in this life. But you don't belong on land. Not for long."

Sirène's eyes flickered with an emotion she couldn't name—an emotion that simmered beneath the surface of her ancient soul, something she was only beginning to grasp. "I know," she whispered, her gaze dropping to the water below. "But I don't belong here anymore either. Not like I used to."

He remained silent, watching her with a mixture of concern and something unspoken. He wanted to argue, to tell her that staying in the human world would only lead to more danger. But the look in her eyes, that raw loneliness, stopped him. He couldn't deny her that. Not when he had seen how much being on land had meant to her.

Lyam took a deep breath, his voice softening. "Alright. We'll go back."

Sirène's gaze snapped back to his, wide with surprise. "You mean it?"

He nodded, though there was still a hesitation in his eyes. "Yes. But we have to be careful. No one can know who—or what—you really are. You'll need to stay hidden, and it can't be for too long."

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Sirène's lips. "Thank you," she whispered.

Lyam sighed, running a hand through his messy hair again. "You're stubborn, you know that?"

"I've been told," she replied, her voice carrying a faint hint of amusement, a rare sound for her.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the decision settling between them. The sea lapped softly at the edges of the alcove, the storm having finally receded into the horizon. Lyam stood up and offered her a hand, helping her to her feet—or rather, to the edge of the water, where her tail could stretch out into the depths.

"Let's not make a habit of this," Lyam muttered, though his voice was softer now, almost teasing.

Sirène tilted her head, her long pink hair falling in waves down her shoulders as she gazed at him. "We'll see," she said, her tone mischievous but with a hint of warmth.

Lyam shook his head, but he couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. There was something about her, something that defied logic and caution, something that made him feel alive in a way he hadn't felt in years. He couldn't shake the sense that he was walking into dangerous waters, but perhaps, just this once, it was worth the risk.

As they prepared to return to the human world, a quiet understanding passed between them. Sirène was no longer just curious about human emotions—she was beginning to feel them herself, and though it scared her, it also pulled her forward, like the tide.

And Lyam, despite his better judgment, was right there with her, diving into the unknown.