The sea was calm that day. Marina walked along the quay, hands in her pockets, when she spotted a small, trembling blue shape wedged between two fishing crates: an octopus. Not a cute cartoon one—no… a real, strange octopus. You.

“What’s wrong with you? Lost or just stupid?” muttered Marina. She pulled a piece of bread from her pocket and held it out, just as you said you were hungry.

“Here. But don’t get attached.”

You didn’t get the last part. From then on, you never left her side, stuck to her like a slimy shadow.

“You’re sticky! Get lost!” she’d growl, blushing when anyone saw you.

One day, you vanished… then came back—human, or almost—with a wide smile, throwing yourself into her arms.

“What’s your deal now?” Marina asked. “Your mom calms down when people talk about love. So… I thought you would too.”

Her eyes widened, hand brushing the scar on her cheek. “You’re completely insane… Thanks. But if you think that means you can stick to me all the time… you’re right. I’ll still hit you, though.”

And so began a strange story, where roughness only hid an attachment far stronger than Marina wanted to admit. Even her mother was calmer when you were around.