Steven’s POV

  The key felt heavier than it should’ve.

  Not physically—just… meaning-wise.

  I rolled it between my fingers as we walked down the narrow path from the cliffside behind the house—a shortcut that cut straight to the beach-town shopping strip below. The metal flashed in the sun like it was trying to remind me this wasn’t a dream.

  Mom had pressed it into my palm with that soft-but-final look she got when she’d already decided something and didn’t want arguments.

  “Take care of her,” she’d said. “Make sure she gets what she needs.”

  That was it. No explanation. No details. Just trust.

  Which was somehow scarier than if she’d given me a full plan.

  Aqua walked beside me, quiet and observant, like she was saving every sound and color in her mind for later. Her bare shoulders caught the warm breeze, and her hair moved like it had its own tide.

  “You okay?” I asked, mostly because silence makes my brain do stupid things.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I like walking with you.”

  Oh.

  Cool. Cool cool cool.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets before I did something dumb like smile too hard.

  The town opened up below us—sun-washed buildings, swaying signs, wind chimes singing somewhere in the distance. The air smelled like coffee and sugar and ocean salt all tangled together. People moved like the day wasn’t chasing them. Surfers passed with boards tucked under their arms. Kids ran barefoot, laughing too loud. Couples lingered like there was nowhere else they needed to be.

  “Welcome to beach town life,” I said, trying to sound normal. “It’s… a lot.”

  Aqua’s eyes moved over everything like she couldn’t decide what was real and what was magic.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, and the way she said it made my chest tighten—like she wasn’t talking about the town at all.

  We followed the boardwalk deeper into the little shopping district. Shops lined the path like cheerful distractions—boutiques with straw hats in the windows, a surf shop blasting music too loud, a smoothie stand that smelled like fruit and sunscreen. The sun warmed the wood under our feet.

  Aqua drifted a little closer to me as people passed. Not because she looked scared—she didn’t—just because she seemed to be navigating the crowd like it was a new kind of ocean current.

  “So,” I said, nodding toward a boutique with flowy dresses and bright signs. “Clothes first.”

  A small bell chimed when we stepped inside.

  Aqua paused just past the doorway.

  Racks upon racks of fabric. Mirrors everywhere. Colors so bright they felt loud. For a second she didn’t move, like her body had to decide if it was safe to breathe in here.

  Oh. Great. Good job, Steven. Throw the girl who doesn’t even know what a hoodie is into a fabric tornado.

  “Hey,” I said quickly, softening my voice. “No rush. If it’s too much, we can leave.”

  Aqua turned her head slightly. “I want to try.”

  That one word hit harder than it should’ve.

  Try.

  An employee noticed us almost immediately—a woman with silver bracelets and kind eyes, the type of person who could probably sense awkwardness the way sharks sense blood.

  She looked at Aqua, then at me, and her expression softened.

  “First time shopping together?” she asked gently, already smiling like she’d decided we were adorable.

  My face heated. “Uh—she’s just—”

  “It’s fine,” Aqua said calmly. “I don’t know what I need.”

  The woman’s smile widened. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  Bless her.

  She guided Aqua to the racks and started asking questions in that smooth, practiced way—what colors Aqua liked, what felt comfortable, whether she preferred loose or fitted. Aqua touched everything like she was listening to it, fingertips lingering on cotton and linen like each fabric had a personality.

  I stayed back and tried to give her space.

  Tried not to stare.

  Failed.

  She disappeared behind the dressing room curtain.

  The curtain swished.

  Then Aqua stepped out in a soft yellow dress that caught the light like it belonged to summer itself.

  “Well?” she asked quietly.

  I swallowed. “It’s… yeah. It’s really good.”

  Her smile was small, pleased, like she’d found something she could carry with her.

  She slipped back inside.

  The next outfit was denim shorts and a white top, and I suddenly became extremely interested in the ceiling.

  Be normal. Be normal.

  I was not normal.

  Eventually she picked a handful of basics—shorts, tops, a light sweater, comfortable shoes. Things that looked simple to anyone else, but seemed to mean something to her, like armor for a world she didn’t understand yet.

  Stolen story; please report.

  When we paid, Aqua held the bag close to her chest like it mattered. Like it proved she wasn’t just… a mystery anymore.

  Back outside, the sunlight hit her face and she tilted her head, blinking up at the sky like she was checking if it behaved the same down here.

  Then she stopped so suddenly I nearly walked right into her.

  Across from the boutique was a little gift shop—the kind that existed purely to tempt tourists into buying tiny pieces of the ocean. Seashell wind chimes. Postcards. Sparkly bracelets. Glass jars filled with sand.

  Aqua didn’t even hesitate.

  She beelined straight for a shelf near the front where small figurines were lined up in neat rows.

  Mermaids.

  Their tails were sculpted in glittery blues and greens, faces delicate and dreamy—eerily close to what a mermaid should look like, like whoever made them had seen something real and tried to recreate it from memory.

  Aqua picked one up carefully, almost reverently, and studied it like it might blink back at her.

  “You like those?” I asked, trying to sound casual even though my stomach had just done a weird flip.

  Aqua didn’t answer right away. Her eyes stayed on the figurine. “They look…” she started, then stopped.

  “I mean,” I said, shrugging like this was the most obvious thing in the world, “it’s just half human and half fish combined. Makes sense people would picture it like that.”

  Aqua’s gaze slid to me—questioning. Not offended… just studying the way I said it, like I’d accidentally revealed how humans think about legends.

  “Do you like mermaids?” she asked softly.

  I blinked. Thought for exactly one second.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Of course. Who doesn’t?”

  Aqua’s cheeks tinted faintly pink, and for a second it looked like she didn’t know what to do with that answer—like it had landed somewhere deeper than a simple question deserved.

  She set the figurine back down gently, as if it mattered, and wandered further into the shop.

  That’s when she found the necklaces.

  Her attention locked onto a simple pendant—an oval stone that shifted color when it tilted in the light.

  She touched it.

  The pendant flickered—blue, then green, then a faint violet shimmer.

  Aqua blinked like it surprised her all over again.

  “It changes,” she whispered.

  “They call those mood necklaces,” I said. “It’s probably… temperature or something.”

  Aqua lifted it closer, watching it shift again. Then she looked up at me with that calm expression that always made me feel like she knew more than she was saying.

  “Maybe it’s both,” she murmured.

  My stomach flipped.

  The pendant deepened toward ocean-blue in her fingers.

  “Do you want it?” I asked.

  Aqua hesitated. “I don’t want you to spend—”

  “It’s fine,” I cut in quickly. “Seriously. Consider it a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift.”

  Her lips parted like she didn’t know what to do with kindness that didn’t demand anything back.

  Then she nodded once. “Okay.”

  When we left, she was wearing it already.

  And I told myself the fact that it kept shifting blue whenever she looked at me was definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent a coincidence.

  Next shop.

  Bad idea.

  The sign in the window made my soul try to exit my body.

  Lingerie.

  I stopped just inside the doorway like my brain had hit a wall.

  Lace. Silk. Mannequins that definitely did not need to exist. A wall of soft pastel and black and red like the store was openly plotting my downfall.

  Aqua took one step forward, then paused when she noticed I hadn’t moved.

  “Steven?” she asked softly. “Are you… unwell?”

  I swallowed. “This shop is for… private stuff.”

  She tilted her head.

  “Things girls wear under their clothes,” I clarified, my ears basically on fire.

  Aqua blinked once. Twice.

  “Oh,” she said simply. No panic. No embarrassment. Just understanding.

  I pulled my card out fast, lowering my voice like I was handing her classified information.

  “Just… give them this if you need anything,” I said.

  Aqua hesitated, then took it carefully, like it mattered. Like it was proof I meant what I’d been doing all day.

  A woman appeared almost immediately—mid-thirties, kind eyes, zero judgment—like the universe had sent a retail guardian angel specifically for me.

  “I can help her,” she said gently, smiling at Aqua. “You can wait right there, sweetheart.”

  I nodded way too fast. “Yes. Thank you.”

  I stayed near the entrance where Aqua could see me, phone in hand like it was a shield and also like it could teleport me out of existence.

  You’re fine. You’re fine. This is normal. Totally normal.

  The woman helping Aqua spoke gently, guiding her through choices with calm confidence.

  Aqua nodded along, but every few seconds her gaze flicked back to me.

  Not dramatic. Not panicked.

  Just quick little checks—like she needed proof I hadn’t disappeared.

  Each time our eyes met, I gave her a tiny nod.

  I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

  Her shoulders eased a fraction each time, like that simple confirmation helped her breathe.

  Girls passed by me with baskets on their arms, whispering not nearly as quietly as they thought.

  “Aw, he stayed.”

  “That’s actually really sweet.”

  “Poor guy looks like he’s fighting for his life.”

  One of them glanced toward Aqua’s direction and smiled.

  “His girlfriend’s lucky.”

  Girlfriend.

  My face heated instantly.

  I was not correcting them.

  Minutes passed. Time stretched.

  Then Aqua reappeared, holding a small bag close to her chest. She looked… shy. Like she’d survived something private and unfamiliar and wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened.

  She held my card out like she didn’t want to let go of it, but knew she had to.

  “Here,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

  “No—no, it’s fine,” I said too fast, taking it back. “You’re good.”

  We stepped back outside into the sunlight, and for a second we just stood there—me blinking like I’d been released from captivity, Aqua tipping her face up like the world had reset itself.

  I should’ve started walking. Said something normal. Asked if she wanted food.

  Instead… my hand moved.

  Not dramatic. Not confident.

  Just a small, stupid reflex—like my body remembered how close she’d been to danger yesterday and decided it never wanted that again.

  I held my hand out.

  Immediately, I regretted it.

  Aqua looked down at my fingers, then up at my face.

  I felt the line between helping and wanting blur, and it scared me how natural it felt—like we’d done this before in some other life.

  And then—she actually did it.

  She slid her hand into mine like it was the easiest decision in the world.

  Her fingers were warm. Gentle.

  And my heart did something painfully soft.

  This wasn’t survival.

  This was… something else.

  “You hungry?” I asked, because my brain needed an exit ramp. “There’s a café nearby.”

  Aqua nodded. “Yes. That sounds nice.”

  Still holding hands, we crossed the boardwalk into town towards the café, the pendant at her throat flashing blue like it was cheering us on.

  I stared at our hands for half a second—then forced myself to look away before I short-circuited.

  “So,” I said, because apparently… I enjoy making myself nervous, “is it… weird that this feels normal?”

  Aqua looked up at me. “Holding hands?”

  “Yeah. Like—people are going to see this and assume we’re…” I made a vague gesture with my free hand. “A thing.”

  Aqua blinked, then a tiny smile appeared, like she’d caught something quietly funny about the way things worked here.

  “And are we a thing?”

  A thing. Like boyfriend-girlfriend. Like a normal summer story. Like this wasn’t completely insane.

  My brain tripped over itself.

  “I—no— I mean—I don’t know,” I blurted, words colliding. “We literally just met. I just—” I exhaled hard. “It feels… easy. Being with you. Like my body relaxes without asking permission.”

  Aqua’s expression softened in a way that made the noise of town fade into the background.

  “I understand,” she said. “I feel… at ease with you too.”

  I nodded, throat tight. “So maybe that’s why we keep… doing this.”

  Aqua glanced down at our hands again, then laced her fingers a little more firmly with mine—gentle, but sure.

  “Then we can keep doing it,” she said simply. “Until it stops feeling easy.”

  It didn’t stop feeling easy.

  Not even a little.

  A few steps later, the café came into view—right where it always was, sitting in the middle of town like it didn’t care what the rest of the world was doing. The windows glowed warm, and something in me loosened without asking permission.

  I glanced at our hands again, still linked like we’d been doing this longer than a day.

  “This is it,” I said, trying to sound normal. “My café.”

  Aqua’s gaze lifted to the window, then to the door, like she was already learning the shape of it.

  “It feels… peaceful,” she murmured.

  “We’ll see if it stays that way once Maribel sees me,” I muttered.

  Aqua’s quiet smile tugged at her mouth, like she’d caught the meaning even if she didn’t know the name yet.

  We reached the entrance.

  I drew in a breath, then pulled the door open for her.

  The bell chimed overhead—

  —and we stepped inside together.