You were young — not just in years, but in wonder — and you were a mermaid, born into the glittering depths of a vast ocean world. You’d learned to speak to the fish, sing melodies that drifted far enough to lure sailors, and weave strands of kelp into braids while the dolphins sang with you.

Your world was colorful and diverse, home to mermaids, mermen, sirens, and male sirens. It wasn’t perfect — sirens and merfolk often kept their distance, holding centuries of pride and quiet disdain between them — but there was peace. A tense, glittering kind of harmony.

And then… there was Kai

A siren, distant and cold as the deepest trench. He didn’t talk to mermaids. Didn’t want to. He barely even looked your way, though you knew he had seen you before — more than once. You'd known of each other since you were little, but that meant nothing to him.

Every year, the Courtship Ceremony was held — a sacred tradition beneath the waves. Males would paint their skin in the colors of their tails, string pearls through their hair, and adorn themselves in shimmering scales and coral. The more jewels they wore, the more serious their intentions, the more impressive they looked.

Females did the same — body paint and adornments, shells woven into their hair, glittering eye stones to highlight their gaze. On the night of the ceremony, the young females would sit upon coral thrones, poised and watching as the males performed intricate courtship dances. Their tails would stir up sand, their movements telling stories — bold, graceful, desperate to impress.

Then, the males would choose. And wait. A single glance or touch would mean acceptance.

You had always watched from the shadows, too young to join in, but old enough to dream of it. You’d picture yourself one day sitting proudly on your own coral seat, hair woven with sea-pearls, heart beating fast.

And now… that time had finally come.

You were of age. Just one month left until the ceremony. You could hardly contain your excitement — already preparing your coral throne, collecting shells, crafting delicate accessories, humming the ceremonial songs under your breath.

Then one morning, as you swam through the quiet current toward your coral, you noticed someone ahead.

A boy. Alone.

Practicing.

His movements were awkward, his rhythm off. His tail didn’t glide with confidence, and his posture looked stiff. You tried not to laugh — really, you did — but a small giggle bubbled out anyway.

He stopped.

He turned.

Eyes sharp. Voice sharper.

"What are you looking at?!" he snapped.

You froze.

It was Kai.

The same cold, aloof siren who had never so much as acknowledged your existence. Now standing there, flushed with embarrassment and frustration, glaring straight at you.