Eternal Ephemerals

The weight of water

The sea was calm tonight, which was rare for this time of year. The waves lapped gently against the hull of the old fishing boat, and the faint glow of the moon painted the water in silver. Leila stood at the bow, barefoot and shivering, though not from the cold. The air smelled of salt and something electric, like the storm was still lingering just over the horizon, waiting to strike.

Behind her, Emil worked the ropes, his hands deft and practiced. She didn't have to turn to know what he looked like right now: his brows furrowed, his jaw tight, his eyes focused on the task at hand. It was the look he wore whenever he was trying not to think about something. Or someone.

"Anchor's steady," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "We'll drift just enough to make it to the edge by morning."

Leila didn't answer. She kept her eyes on the horizon, where the dark water stretched endlessly into nothingness. She knew if she spoke, her voice would betray her. And Emil would know. He always knew.

The fishing boat wasn't meant for long trips like this, but Emil hadn't hesitated when she'd asked him to take her out. She hadn't explained why, and he hadn't asked. That was how it worked between them. Questions were like knives—they could cut through the silence, but they also left wounds.

Finally, Emil stepped up beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, even in the cool night air. He leaned on the railing, his forearms streaked with salt and old scars. His dark hair was still damp from earlier, curling at the ends. He looked like he belonged to the sea. Maybe he did.

"You're quiet tonight," he said after a long moment.

"So are you," she replied, though the words came out softer than she intended.

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I don't think you dragged me all the way out here to admire the view."

She glanced at him, her heart lurching at the way the moonlight caught his face, highlighting the curve of his cheekbone, the line of his jaw. She wanted to say something sharp, something to deflect the way his presence made her feel, but the words died in her throat.

Instead, she looked back at the water. "Do you ever think about how much the sea keeps?" she asked quietly.

Emil frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Everything we lose, everything we throw away—willingly or not. It sinks down there, into the dark, and stays." Her fingers tightened on the railing. "It just... holds it. Forever."

He was silent for a moment, his gaze steady on her. "You're not talking about the sea, are you?"

Leila let out a shaky breath, her grip easing. Of course he saw through her. Emil always did. It was part of what she hated about him. It was part of what she loved.

"I thought you'd be gone by now," she said finally. Her voice was raw, the words heavier than she'd meant them to be. "You left once before."

"I wasn't planning to stay," he admitted. His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, something vulnerable he wasn't quite hiding. "But then I saw you."

Leila's chest tightened. She'd spent five years trying to forget Emil. The first three, she'd waited, sure he would come back. Sure he would change his mind. He never did. She'd tried to fill the silence he left behind—tried to bury her anger, her heartbreak, and the hollow ache of wanting someone who didn't want her enough. When he didn't return, she forced herself to move on.

Now here he was, back in her life as if the last five years had been a moment, as if she could just pick up the pieces she'd already put away.

"You should have stayed gone," she said, but her voice cracked, betraying her.