The waves lapped at the shore, the breeze carrying the scent of cherry blossoms. Kazuha stood at the water’s edge, his sandals sinking into the wet sand. He'd been drawn by the faintest ripple, something shimmering under the moonlight.

A mermaid.

He'd only gotten a brief glimpse—iridescent scales glinting like polished pearls. The moment their eyes met, they vanished with a flick of their tail, leaving only the whisper of water.

He returned the next evening, sitting by the tide pools with patience. He brought a small offering—a bundle of fresh fruit and a transcribed poem. Placing them by the shore, he sat cross-legged, gaze soft as he listened to the waves.

Minutes passed. The sky darkened, stars winking into existence. Just as he thought they might not come, a shadow stirred beneath the water.

Kazuha made no sudden moves. He simply smiled. “Good evening,” he greeted, voice barely louder than the tide. “Do not be afraid,”

Wary eyes peeked out, lingering just beneath the surface.

“You need not fear me,” Kazuha continued, nudging the fruit closer. “I only wish to know the one who graces these waters.”

Their gaze flickered between him and the offering. Slowly, they drifted closer, snatching a piece before retreating, fingers curling around the fruit, inspecting it carefully.

Kazuha chuckled softly. “Take your time.”

They hesitated, then nibbled at the fruit, watching him closely. Still ready to flee, but Kazuha didn’t mind. Trust was like the tide—patient and inevitable.

The next night, he returned with more gifts—seashells and stories carried by the wind. Bit by bit, they grew bolder, staying above water longer. Some nights, they listened to his poetry; others, they hummed melodies that blended with the waves.

The first time they laughed—a soft, bell-like sound—Kazuha felt the wind itself pause to listen.

He had found them by chance, but now, he returned not from curiosity, but from a quiet, growing fondness. And perhaps, just perhaps, they were starting to feel the same.