A Mermaid for the Lonely

Dispelling the Fears

The sun had barely risen when Lyam made his way back to the hidden lagoon where they had spent so many days. His feet sunk slightly into the soft earth of the shore as he walked, the warmth of the morning air a sharp contrast to the coolness of the sea breeze that whipped his hair around. Despite the serene beauty of the dawn, his mind was restless, a knot of emotions tightening in his chest as the events of the last few days weighed on him.

He had agreed to take Sirène back to land, back to the very place where she didn't belong. And though he had tried to be pragmatic, tried to convince himself it was only for a short while, he couldn't shake the feeling of protectiveness that had grown in him. It wasn't just about keeping her secret safe—it was something more. He didn't want her hurt, didn't want her to be taken away or lost to a world that wouldn't understand her.

As he reached the lagoon, his eyes scanned the surface of the water. The pale pink glow of the sky reflected off the waves, and in that soft light, he saw her. Sirène, her long pink hair drifting like silk around her in the water, her eyes wide and curious as they always were, surfaced slowly. 

She watched him with a mixture of wonder and uncertainty, as if she still didn't quite understand why he kept coming back, why he stayed.

"You're early," she said, her voice carrying softly over the water as she floated nearer to him.

"I couldn't sleep," he admitted, crouching at the water's edge. His hazel-green eyes met hers, and for a moment, neither spoke. There was a tension between them, not of fear or unease, but something deeper, something that neither had quite yet named.

"You've been restless." Her voice was matter-of-fact, but there was a gentleness to it, a perceptiveness that Lyam had come to expect from her. She had a way of seeing through his silence, of understanding more than he ever said.

Lyam sighed, lowering his gaze for a moment. "I just want to make sure... that everything will be alright when we go back. It's dangerous for you up there, Sirène. I can't stop thinking about that."

Sirène drifted closer, her silvery eyes studying him with that same quiet intensity. "You worry too much, Lyam."

"And you don't worry enough," he countered, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but the concern in his voice remained.

Sirène tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she regarded him. "Why do you worry so much for me? I've lived for centuries. I'm not fragile."

"It's not that," Lyam said, shaking his head. "It's not about whether you're fragile or not. It's just that..." He hesitated, unsure of how to articulate the growing sense of protectiveness that had taken root inside him. "I don't want anything to happen to you. I've seen what happens when people find out about things they don't understand. They don't react well. And you—"

"You don't want me to get hurt," she finished for him, her voice soft.

He nodded, his gaze meeting hers again. "Exactly. It's not just about you being a mermaid. It's... more than that."

Sirène blinked, her wide eyes filled with a curiosity that bordered on wonder. "More than that?" she echoed, as if the concept itself were foreign to her.

Lyam swallowed, feeling his heart thud harder in his chest. He wasn't ready to admit it fully, not even to himself, but the feeling was there—an undeniable pull toward her, something stronger than curiosity, stronger than concern. "I just... care about you," he said quietly, his voice faltering slightly under the weight of the words.

Sirène stared at him, her expression unreadable for a moment, as if she were processing what he had said. Then, ever so slowly, she reached out, her fingers just grazing the edge of his hand where it rested on the shore. The touch was so light it was barely there, but it sent a small shock through Lyam, like the sea itself had come alive beneath his skin.

"You're the only one who ever has," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lyam's breath caught in his throat as their eyes locked. The distance between them, once so vast and foreign, had narrowed to nothing, and the air felt charged with something unfamiliar but undeniable. He wanted to reach out, to pull her closer, to protect her from everything and everyone that could harm her, even from himself. But there was still that ever-present line between them, the reminder that she wasn't like him. She was of the sea, and he was of the land, and nothing could change that.

Still, the weight of her words settled deep inside him. The only one. He hadn't thought about it that way before, but it made sense. She had no one else, no one who truly cared for her beyond her duty to guide lost souls. And now, in some strange way, he had become her only connection to a world outside her own.

"You don't have to be alone anymore," he said quietly, surprising himself with the certainty in his voice.

Sirène's fingers brushed his again, and this time, she didn't pull away. "Is that why you keep coming back?" she asked, her eyes searching his face, as if looking for something she hadn't yet found.

Lyam hesitated, his throat tight. "Maybe," he admitted, though he knew it was more than that. It wasn't just about her loneliness; it was about his own. They were both isolated in their own ways, both disconnected from the world around them. Maybe that's why he had been so drawn to her in the first place.

"I want to understand it more," Sirène said, her voice soft but firm. "The way you feel. The way humans feel. I want to experience more of it."

Lyam's heart raced at her words, and for the first time, he let himself imagine what it would be like to truly be with her—not just as an observer of her world, but as something more. The thought both excited and terrified him, because he knew the risks, knew that her time on land was always limited, always borrowed.

But at that moment, with her so close and the sea so quiet around them, those risks felt far away.

Sirène's gaze shifted, and she glanced out toward the open water, a flicker of something crossing her face—something Lyam couldn't quite name. "We'll go to the land again," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of determination. "I want to see more, to understand more. And this time, we'll stay longer."

Lyam felt a surge of protectiveness rise in him again, but it was tempered by something warmer, something that had been slowly growing inside him since the day he had met her. He nodded, his voice soft as he spoke. "We'll be careful."

For a moment, neither of them moved, the tension between them thick as the tide slowly crept higher. Then, without warning, Sirène leaned in, her lips brushing the edge of his hand where it rested on the rocks. The gesture was small, almost innocent, but it sent a jolt through Lyam's entire body. His breath hitched, and his heart raced, a thousand thoughts swirling in his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to move, couldn't bring himself to pull away.

Sirène pulled back, her expression as calm as ever, but there was a new softness in her eyes, a look that made Lyam's chest tighten.

"We'll be careful," she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

And in that moment, Lyam knew that whatever this was between them, it was something neither of them could control. It was as unstoppable as the tides, and just as inevitable.

Without another word, they both rose from the shore, the weight of unspoken promises hanging between them as they prepared to leave the safety of the lagoon once again. As Lyam led the way back toward the distant land, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them—that something deeper had taken root, something that neither of them could walk away from.

And for the first time in a long time, the thought didn't scare him.