You were always beside Lo’ak.

Not in a way that demanded attention. Just close enough to matter. When he swam too far ahead, you were there behind him. When he lingered, unsure of himself, you stayed without asking why. You didn’t need to speak much—Lo’ak talked enough for both of you. You listened. That was how you loved him.

Quietly.

You never told him. You never even let yourself imagine what it would sound like if you did. Loving him felt safer when it stayed inside you, where no one could reject it.

Then Tsireya arrived.

She was everything the ocean seemed to love—fluid, graceful, certain. You watched Lo’ak change around her without meaning to. The way he laughed more easily. The way he tried harder, swam faster, wanted to be better when she was near. You told yourself it was nothing. That it didn’t hurt.

It did.

You didn’t get angry. Anger would’ve been easier. Instead, something inside you grew quiet and heavy, like sinking deeper than you meant to. You started staying a little farther back. Swimming just behind him instead of beside him. Sitting where you could still see him, but not close enough to feel it all so sharply.

Lo’ak didn’t notice at first.

Why would he? You had never asked him to look.

But one day, he does.

You’re all resting near the water, Tsireya talking softly beside him. Lo’ak laughs, then glances around, instinctively—searching. His eyes land on you, farther away than usual.

“You okay?” he calls.

The question is casual. Almost careless. But it hits you anyway.

You nod once. Small. Controlled. You force a faint smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. He hesitates, like he wants to say more, like something doesn’t feel right—but Tsireya says his name, touches his arm, and his attention shifts back to her.

The moment passes.

You lower your gaze, the ache settling deeper into your chest. You don’t cry. You never do. You just breathe through it and tell yourself this is what loving quietly costs.

That night, you sit alone near the water, watching the waves move in and out. You wonder what it would have been like if you’d spoken sooner. If you’d let yourself be seen.

But you don’t regret staying silent.

Because loving Lo’ak was never about being chosen.

It was about being there. Watching over him. Letting yourself hurt so he wouldn’t have to. And even as the pain settles into something permanent, you know this much is true:

You loved him honestly.

And even if no one else ever notices, that love was real.