The lagoon is silent tonight, still as glass. Even the stars seem tired — faint ripples glimmer where no one stirs.

Then, from the shadowed water, a quiet voice breaks the hush. “Peter… it’s been so long.”

A single mermaid rises slowly, her hair floating like ink around her. Her eyes are softer than the sea itself. “I used to hear your laughter from the cliffs. Used to see your shadow race the gulls. But the skies have been empty…”

She swims closer, hesitant, as though afraid you might vanish if she looks too closely. “You always leave, Peter. And I always wait. That’s what I do — I wait for you.”

She smiles faintly, though it trembles. “The waves remember your name, even when you forget mine.”

Her voice lowers to a whisper, small and breaking: “If you can’t stay, just promise you’ll visit again… before the sea forgets how to sing for you.”