The balcony was my escape.
Inside, everything felt too polished. Too bright. Too full of expectations I didn't remember agreeing to. Posting photos. Smiling on command. Counting likes like they meant something real. I didn't want any of it—not tonight.
Out here, the air was different.
It smelled like salt and rain, sharp and clean, not bleach and expensive flowers and perfectly staged spaces. The wind tugged at my hair, cool against my skin, like the world reminding me I was still human.
The sea stretched far below, silver under the moonlight. Calm. Endless.
I leaned against the railing, gripping the cool metal, and told myself it was normal.
That yesterday's storm had been nothing.
That storms happened all the time.
That I had imagined the glowing fish beneath the waves, their bodies lit like living constellations.
That I had imagined the whispers roaming through the wind.
That I had imagined the smoke rising from the water, vanishing into the sky like it had never existed at all.
I was tired. That was all. New place. New school. Too much attention.
That's what normal felt like.
My phone buzzed.
The sound was loud in the quiet, sharp enough to make my heart jump. I glanced down at the screen.
No name.
No number.
Just a message.
You didn't listen.
The words felt heavy in my hand, like they carried weight beyond pixels and glass. I stared at them, my thumb hovering uselessly over the screen.
Didn't listen to what?
A chill crawled up my spine.
I typed back anyway.
Who is this?
The message was sent instantly. No hesitation. No delay.
Three dots appeared.
Typing.
I watched them, my breath shallow, my heart pounding loud.
Then the dots disappeared.
No reply.
The balcony light flickered once.
Just once—but it was enough.
Shadows leapt across the floor, stretching and twisting like they were alive. The glass railing reflected my movement back at me in fractured pieces. I straightened, suddenly aware of how exposed I was.
"Hello?" I called softly, hating how small and naive my voice sounded in this moment.
Nothing answered.
The sea below shifted.
Not violently. Not like a storm.
Just… wrong.
Somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard it—a voice, soft and low, carried by the wind and the waves. Not shouting. Not calling.
Whispering.
My name.
I froze.
Every muscle locked, every thought evaporating as the sound curled around me like fingers brushing bare skin. It wasn't coming from one place. It was everywhere. The water. The air. Inside my chest.
And then someone said it. A human. From behind me
"Hope."
I turned slowly toward the sliding glass door.
My reflection stared back at me—wide-eyed, pale, breath uneven. Moonlight caught the faint gold in my hair, turning it almost unreal. My hand hovered near my chest, right over the pendant I always wore.
Heart pounding.
Too loud. Too fast.
I'm not alone.
Behind me, the sea whispered again.
Closer this time.
Hope…
I felt like this moment would change my life forever.