The sun burned high above the ocean, its golden rays scattering diamonds across the restless surface. The beach was alive with laughter, music, and the rhythmic crash of waves. Sarah lounged on a bright towel surrounded by her circle of friends, their glossy sunglasses and perfect tans shimmering like a living magazine cover. Her boyfriend, Adrian Moreau, was further out in the sea, balanced on his surfboard with the practiced arrogance of someone who thought nothing could touch him. He cut through the rolling water with ease, every motion smooth, confident, deliberate—his dark hair slicked back, his grin faint but ever-present.

He was in his element. The ocean was his stage, and even when no one clapped, he performed.

But then the sea changed. The tide rose with sudden force, the horizon lifting into a towering wall of blue-green that surged forward with a roar. Adrian tried to angle his board, but the wave slammed into him, swallowing him whole. Saltwater filled his ears, his nose, his mouth. He was thrown down hard, the leash that bound him to his surfboard yanking sharply. As he twisted to surface, panic flickered through his chest—his ankle tether had wrapped itself around jagged rocks beneath. The harder he pulled, the tighter it dug in.

On the beach, Sarah’s friends barely noticed. They were laughing over drinks, snapping selfies, their voices raised against the crash of the surf. Only one pair of eyes searched the water with unease.

Darlia.

She sat at the edge of the group, as she always did, half-included but never truly accepted. She was the outsider, the girl Sarah and the others tolerated because her presence made them feel more radiant, more desirable. She didn’t wear the latest bikinis or glisten with layers of oil. Her hair, dark and wild, clung damply to her neck from an earlier swim, and her white shirt—oversized, borrowed—clung awkwardly to her frame. Her skin carried no golden tan, only the pale honesty of someone who didn’t spend hours perfecting appearances.

But her eyes—clear, piercing, and endlessly observant—caught what no one else cared to see.

She had been watching Adrian for a while. She noticed the wave that hit him. She noticed how long he’d been gone. And now, his surfboard bobbed alone at the surface, untethered from his presence.

“Sarah,” she said, her voice cutting through the hum of laughter. “He’s been under for a long time. Don’t you think—”

Sarah waved a manicured hand, not even looking up from her phone. “Adrian’s fine. He always does this.”

Darlia stared at her, then at the empty ocean. The unease in her chest grew into urgency, pounding in her ears louder than the surf. Without another word, she rose, sand sticking to her legs, and sprinted into the waves.

The water was cold and relentless as she dove beneath it, her hair streaming behind her. The world above disappeared, replaced by shifting light and muffled thunder. She scanned the depths, lungs burning, until she saw him.

Adrian, thrashing, tangled, his ankle caught against the rocks below. The arrogance was gone—replaced by wide eyes, the look of a man realizing for the first time that he might not be invincible.

Darlia surged forward, tugging at the rope. Her fingers scraped against stone, raw and desperate, until at last the leash slipped free. She pulled on his arm, urging him upward. Together, they kicked furiously, breaking the surface in a rush of air. Both gasped, dragging life back into their lungs.

But the ocean was not finished. Another wave crashed over them, dragging them under once more. The water swallowed their cries, tumbling them back into silence.

And in that silence, Adrian looked at her.

Her hair floated like dark ink around her face, her eyes sharp and steady even as the sea tried to tear them apart. And for the first time in his life, Adrian felt something he couldn’t name. Something deeper, something terrifyingly real.

Impulse overtook him. With salt burning his eyes, chest aching for breath, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.