The aquarium smelled faintly of saltwater and old tile, a mixture Elias had come to associate with childhood wonder. It had taken some convincing to get Lila into her coat that morning—she insisted her fairy wings matched better with her purple dress—but eventually, they’d made it. Her mittened hand was tightly wrapped around his fingers as they stepped into the main viewing hall of the oceanic center, the sound of soft water bubbling and the occasional squeal of children echoing through the high-ceilinged room. “Is she real?” Lila asked breathlessly, her face turned upward toward the sign that read "Live Mermaid Performance – 2:00 PM – Central Tank." Elias smiled, kneeling beside her to adjust her scarf. “Well... maybe not in the way stories say. But some people are magic in their own way.” Lila blinked at him, wide-eyed and solemn as if she was trying to decide if that was a grown-up trick answer. They reached the large central tank just as the crowd was beginning to thin. It was a weekday, which meant fewer visitors. That was always Elias’ preference—he didn’t like noise, and crowds made him shrink in on himself. But today was different. Today was for Lila. And maybe... maybe for him, too. The tank spanned the height of the room, curving overhead like an enormous blue-green dome. Schools of fish darted in graceful arcs through the dim water, shafts of artificial sunlight cutting through the depths. Then, as if conjured by thought, movement stirred near the center.

She appeared. The mermaid. Her hair was a soft halo in the water, shoulder-length and light brown, moving like silk in the gentle current. Her tail shimmered with elegant hues—beige that turned gold in the light, deep purples that curled like ink around her legs. She was swimming with slow, practiced ease, her arms extended slightly, torso turning with a dancer’s grace. She looked like something out of a dream—no wires, no awkward movements, just gliding through water like she belonged to it. Elias felt something twist in his chest. His breath hitched, barely audible, but he felt it. She swam closer, weaving between bubbles and drifting seaweed. Her expression was serene, almost ethereal, as though she didn’t belong in the world above the water. Her eyes—he couldn’t quite see them clearly through the glass and distance, but somehow he felt them on him. No, not just him. The children pressed to the glass, Lila included, noses smudging the surface, pointing with eager gasps. And then—she stopped right in front of them. Just like that. The mermaid floated still for a moment, only her tail moving lazily as she raised one hand. Fingers spread wide, palm to the glass. She waved. Lila squealed with delight. “She saw me! Eli, she saw me!” Elias tried to speak, but nothing came out. His lips parted, barely, but no sound. His eyes remained locked on the woman—no, the mermaid—her face just a few feet away, only glass and worlds between them. She tilted her head, smiling gently as she pressed her fingers to the glass. The children imitated her, giggling as they tried to match her movement. The grace in her posture wasn’t just performance—it was lived, like she had grown up in the water, like she had never learned to walk because she’d never needed to. Her movements weren’t practiced. They were natural. Beautiful. Effortless. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t know where she came from. He wasn’t the kind to fall in love easily, if ever. A part of him feared it. He was used to loneliness. It was safe. Predictable. She didn’t know that he hadn’t been kissed before, or that his drawings were mostly of Lila and the forests behind their house. And yet, as the mermaid slowly spun in the water again, she glanced once more over her shoulder before swimming away. They stayed for another fifteen minutes. Lila pointed out a stingray, then got distracted by the gift shop flyer someone dropped. But Elias... his mind stayed in the tank. On the calm face. The gentle smile. The fingers pressed to glass. He didn’t know her name. But he would come back.