Kai
Days passed, and I never saw her again.
At first, I kept expecting her to show up, walking down the dock the way she had before, hair kissed by sea mist, posture too controlled for someone standing that close to the edge of things. I imagined I'd spot her silhouette from a distance and feel that strange pull in my chest again, the one that never announced itself but always made itself known.
But she never came.
Maybe she finally chose to live.
The thought should've comforted me. It should've felt like closure, like proof that whatever darkness had been circling her had finally loosened its grip. Instead, it left behind something hollow. Something restless. A weight I couldn't explain, like an ache that didn't belong to my body but refused to leave it.
I told myself it was better this way. She was a stranger. Just someone I'd crossed paths with. Someone the ocean briefly placed in my life and then took away again.
Still, every time I stared out at open water, I wondered if she was somewhere out there standing at another edge, still searching for what the sea had stolen from her.
Days turned into weeks. I convinced myself she'd moved on. Maybe she'd finally loosened the grip of whatever kept pulling her back. Maybe she'd found something or someone strong enough to anchor her here.
And that was good.
Eventually, I stopped thinking about her.
Or at least, I learned how to pretend I did.
I buried myself in work. Long hours beneath the waves. Studying coral formations. Tracking marine life. Logging data until my hands cramped and my mind went pleasantly numb. I taught diving lessons again, led expeditions, smiled at tourists who didn't know how lucky they were to be carefree.
The ocean returned to being just the ocean.
My home.
My constant.
And for the first time in a long while, it felt like things were settling into place.
That illusion lasted exactly one afternoon.
I was heading back to my yacht when I noticed Robert pacing near one of his boats, squinting at the deck like it had personally offended him.
"Afternoon, Robert," I called.
He looked up and nodded. "Hey, Kai."
"What's wrong?" I asked, stepping closer.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Looking for something. Damn eyesight's not what it used to be."
I smirked. "Finally admitting you need glasses?"
"Not happening," he muttered.
I laughed. "What're you looking for?"
"The spare keys. Swear I left them right here."
"I'll find them," I said. "Go back to your office."
He hesitated, then gave in. "You're a good kid. Thanks."
I waved him off and started searching, checking benches, crates, storage boxes. The dock smelled like salt and fuel, waves tapping gently against the hulls like a familiar heartbeat.
When my fingers brushed against something cold and metallic near a crate, I smiled.
Keys.
"Found you," I muttered.
That's when the engine roared to life.
The vibration tore through the deck beneath my feet.
My head snapped up as the yacht began to pull away from the dock.
"What the...?"
I grabbed the railing, heart slamming against my ribs, and moved toward the helm.
Someone was steering.
And when I reached the front
I stopped dead.
She stood there.
Serene.
Still in her crisp pilot uniform, posture straight, hands steady on the wheel. The wind tugged at her hair, but she didn't seem to notice. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, focused, distant, haunted.
The same look.
The one I'd seen before. The one that lived just behind her composure.
I opened my mouth to speak.
Then stopped.
Something told me not to break the moment. Not yet. Instead, I leaned against the railing and watched her.
I needed to know why she was here.
The yacht cut through the water smoothly. She didn't look back. Not once. It was like she'd already left this world behind and was just waiting for her body to catch up.
When she finally slowed the engine, the ocean stretched endlessly before us, dark, deep, unforgiving.
She reached for a notepad.
My stomach dropped.
She wrote quickly. Deliberately. This wasn't casual. This wasn't a reminder or a stray thought.
This was practiced.
Final.
She tucked the paper between two magazines and walked toward the railing.
Something inside me screamed that I was too late.
I grabbed the note.
The words blurred as my chest tightened.
A suicide letter.
She wasn't here to mourn.
She was here to disappear.
By the time I looked up, she was already removing her shoes, setting them neatly aside. Her pilot badge followed placed carefully on the deck like it mattered where it ended up.
Then she climbed the railing.
"Serene!" I shouted.
She didn't look back.
She jumped.
"Shit!"
I yanked the ladder down, threw the floaters overboard, and dove.
Everything after that blurred into instinct.
Cold.
Water.
Panic.
My body moved before my mind could catch up. I kicked hard, lungs burning, heart screaming. When I reached her, she was sinking peaceful in a way that terrified me.
I wrapped an arm around her waist and kicked upward with everything I had.
When we broke the surface, I hauled her toward the yacht, grabbed the floater, and dragged her back onboard. I laid her down and checked her pulse.
Weak.
No breath.
"No. No. No."
I started CPR, counting, pumping, begging without words.
"Come on, Serene! You're not dying on me!"
Nothing.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, already moving. I tilted her head, sealed her airway, and started mouth-to-mouth.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until...
She gasped.
I rolled her onto her side as seawater poured out of her lungs.
She lived.
Barely.
She lay there soaked and shaking, tears spilling freely as if they'd been waiting their turn.
"Jesus, Serene," I said, voice hoarse. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"You should've just let me sink," she whispered.
The words hit harder than the ocean ever could.
I dropped beside her, exhausted, furious, terrified, all of it tangled together.
"You scared the shit out of me."
"You weren't supposed to be here," she snapped, grief cracking into anger. Like my presence had ruined something sacred.
"Yeah," I shot back, then softened despite myself. "Lucky for you, I was."
Silence swallowed us.
I waited. She turned her face away, shoulders trembling as quiet sobs wracked her body.
"Serene," I said finally. "I need an emergency contact. Someone I can call."
Nothing.
"Just a name," I tried gently. "A number."
She shook her head, hugging herself tighter.
That's when I realized
She wasn't angry anymore.
She was empty.
I walked back to the helm, scanning the surroundings and it hit me.
This spot.
The place Anthony drowned.
And suddenly everything clicked.
She was his fiancée.
The pilot.
The captain.
How had I missed it?
Without another word, I turned the yacht around.
The engine hummed as we headed back.
She stayed curled on the deck, silent except for her breathing and the occasional broken sob. I didn't push. I just drove.
Sometimes saving someone isn't about words.
Sometimes it's just about bringing them back.
The yacht bumped softly against the dock. I tied the lines with hands still shaking.
When I turned, she was sitting up.
"We're back," I said carefully. "Please, give me a number."
She didn't answer.
She stood instead. Picked up her shoes. Reattached her badge. Slung her bag over her shoulder. Every movement controlled, rehearsed like stopping meant falling apart.
When she looked at me, her eyes were red and swollen. Beneath that defiance.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"Home."
"No," I said, stepping in front of her. "I'm not letting you leave unless..."
"You don't get to tell me what to do."
Her voice was quiet. Sharp. Final.
"I just pulled you out of the ocean," I snapped. "You don't get to walk away like nothing happened."
"I didn't ask you to do that."
Then she brushed past me.
Barely contact.
Still devastating.
I stood there, frozen, watching her walk away, wet uniform clinging, shoulders squared like armor. She didn't look back.
For a terrifying moment, I wondered if I'd done the wrong thing.
If saving her had only delayed the inevitable.
The dock stretched between us.
And all I could do was stand there, realizing something I'd learned too late...
Pulling someone out of the ocean
doesn't mean you've pulled them back to life.