It started with the sound of water…
Not crashing or roaring, just this soft, endless sloshing — like the ocean was breathing.
He opened his eyes slowly. Blinding white light stabbed through his lids, and he winced. For a second, he thought he was still dreaming. Maybe he was. The sun was directly above him, too bright, too still. The sky was this overwhelming shade of blue, stretching forever without a single cloud. And then there was the heat — not sharp or cruel, but heavy, like a blanket you can't push off.
He sat up, dizzy. Wood creaked under him. He was sitting in a boat — a small, simple one. No engine. No paddles. Just a faded hull, worn seats, and him.
No land in sight.
"...What the hell?"
His voice cracked like he hadn't spoken in days. He looked down at his arms. Sunburnt. Salt-crusted. His lips were dry and split. His clothes — just a T-shirt and shorts — were damp and clinging to him. The kind of wet that felt like it had been there for a long time.
A wave nudged the side of the boat gently, and it rocked, like the sea was teasing him.
He scanned the horizon again. Nothing. Just water. An endless, shimmering field of blue that reached out in every direction. It was weirdly beautiful — too beautiful — like he'd dropped into a postcard someone made up. But it didn't feel real.
He looked around inside the boat, hoping for anything. Food. Water. A radio. Hell, even a backpack.
Nothing.
No footprints. No marks. No sign of how he got here.
He rubbed his temples. His head was pounding. There was something… there. Some thought, just beneath the surface. But trying to grab it was like trying to hold onto fog.
All he could remember was falling asleep in his own bed. That's it.
But then — something. Just a flash: a girl laughing by the waves. Her hair blowing in the wind. Her voice — "Come on, slowpoke!" — echoing through the air like it was coming from another world. Then gone.
He blinked. Tried to focus. Nothing again. Just water.
The seagull showed up around noon.
He didn't hear it at first. It just glided past, its white feathers almost glowing against the sky. He scrambled up, nearly tipping the boat.
"Hey! Hey! Down here!" he shouted, waving both arms like a maniac.
The bird didn't care. It circled once, then disappeared into the distance like it was never there.
That night, the sea changed.
The air got colder. The clouds rolled in like smoke, slow and eerie. The water, once gentle, started pulling — not hard, but just enough to make the boat drift in a direction he didn't choose.
He curled up on the bench, wrapping his arms around his knees. He was exhausted but scared to sleep. What if he woke up underwater? Or didn't wake up at all?
The first raindrop hit his forehead. Then came the wind.
It wasn't a full storm. Just the kind that feels like the ocean is warning you. The sky rumbled far away. The boat rocked, harder this time. He gripped the edges, knuckles white.
Through the dark, between flashes of lightning, he swore he saw something on the horizon. Like a shape — tall, distant, maybe a tower? Or a ship? But every time he blinked, it was gone.
He lay there, soaking wet, whispering to himself just to hear something.
"Hold on… Just… hold on…"
A name floated up. A soft, blurry voice in his head. "Lia…?"
Who the hell was Lia?
His eyes closed without permission. He didn't dream. Just darkness, waves, and the hum of silence — too deep, too wide, too real.