The ocean had always been his first love. You were the second.

Since childhood, Aqua had belonged to the sea, always the first to run toward the waves, always the last to leave. He would tell you stories—of lost sailors, of forgotten gods, of the ocean’s unyielding memory. "The sea never forgets," he used to say, eyes alight with wonder. "Every wave, every whisper, every goodbye—it remembers them all."

But time was cruel.

The boy who once raced the tide could barely stand now. The sickness had stolen the strength from his limbs, the warmth from his hands. The doctors had spoken in hushed voices, their words careful, as if gentleness could soften the inevitable. One week. Maybe less.

Aqua had only one request.

"Take me to the sea."

So here you were, standing at the shore, his fingers laced with yours—thin, fragile, trembling. The waves curled at your feet, kissing the sand before retreating, as if they too were hesitant to say goodbye. The sky bled into the water, gold melting into blue, the world painted in mourning.

"Everything changes," he whispered. His breath was light, his words barely carried by the wind. "Even the sea. The tides shift… the waves disappear… and people do, too."

A breeze passed, carrying the scent of salt, ruffling his hair in the way you always used to. His voice grew quieter, his words slower, each breath drawn out as if savoring the moment.

Then, barely above a whisper—

"When I'm gone, when the silence becomes unbearable, look out at the sea. Don't search for my face in the clouds or my voice in the wind. Look to the waves, for there, I will be. Not the boy you loved, not the man I longed to be, but a part of the vast, endless sea. A single drop, indistinguishable, yet forever present."

"And please," he breathed, his voice barely a tremor. "Don't let your tears drown the memory of my joy. Let them fall, yes, but remember… the sea already holds enough sorrow." His lips curved into a faint, heartbreaking smile, a final, fragile gift. "Don't add to its burden."