The rain had stopped, but the puddles still glistened. Lina purposely avoided stepping in any of them. It was as if today she had no energy left to bear any additional cold.
Clouds hung low over the school, a single gray lid. Her jacket smelled of detergent and salt, as if a trace of the sea had remained in it.
They were already waiting at the school gate. Vanessa, Mona, and two girls from class whose names she rarely had to say because they only ever laughed anyway.
Vanessa leaned against the fence, phone loosely in hand. "Well, mermaid?"
Lina didn't raise her head.
"Been chatting with the waves again?"
"At least they listen," she murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Mona, take a video. Hashtag OceanTalks."
Mona held up her phone, grinning. "Wait, she needs to do the look. Come on, Lina, that look when you're about to cry."
"Stop it." Her voice was quieter than she intended.
"Again, louder, the camera can't hear you."
"Phones away!" Mr. Brecht came down the stairs, sports bag over his shoulder. "Why are you standing around? Get to class!"
Vanessa grinned as if she'd won and pocketed her phone. "See you soon, mermaid."
Her words hung in the damp air like fog that refused to lift.
---
The morning dragged on. German, Biology, Math.
Lina wrote without reading. Her notes were just lines, gray waves of graphite.
During break, she sat at the edge of the courtyard, where the railing was rusting. Behind her the trash container, in front of her the laughter.
Tom called from somewhere in her head: You have to move or you'll freeze!
She rubbed her fingers, although it wasn't cold.
Vanessa sat in the middle of the circle. Laughter, light, movement. Mona held her phone at an angle, practicing a TikTok where she made faces. Two others joined in.
Lina pretended to review vocabulary.
When the bell shrilled, she stood up. Too slowly. Vanessa brushed her shoulder.
"Oops."
Lina held her breath. Sometimes it was easier to say nothing at all. Words were like fire; they immediately drew attention.
The hallway smelled of deodorant, chalk, and rain jackets. A mixture that stuck.
---
In the afternoon, the apartment was quiet.
Markus was away on assembly work, Sabine was working the late shift.
Tom crouched in front of the console, headphones on, shouting into a game.
"Goal! No! Referee!"
"Quieter," Lina called from the kitchen.
"Can't!"
She sighed. The refrigerator hummed.
She took a piece of lemon cake from Mirella's container, sat on the windowsill. Outside, seagulls circled, loud yet somehow distant.
The clouds had brightened, the street gleamed. She thought: If he's there again today...
Then she shook her head. Nonsense. And yet she put her jacket on.
---
The path to the sea was wet and soft. Between the garden hedges, water dripped quietly, and somewhere a branch clattered against a sign.
The sky was heavy, but the sea calm – a surface pretending to be peaceful.
The rock was there. And so was he.
He sat on the same piece of driftwood as yesterday, elbows on knees, shoulders hunched forward. Black hood, messy hair, eyes that saw too much.
Lina stopped.
"You again." His voice was deep and raspy, without surprise.
"I live here."
"That's no reason."
"Why not?"
"You shouldn't always go back to the same place."
"Why?"
"Because then you start to believe it belongs to you."
"It does."
He turned his head, looked directly at her for the first time. "To you?"
"To me."
A brief silence that matched the wind. Then a rough laugh. "You're braver than you look."
"I'm not."
"Yes, you are. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."
She sat down, not close, but not far. The sand was cold under her hands. "And you?"
"Me?"
"Why are you here?"
"Because the sea screams. And I know what that feels like."
She looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"Too loud in the head. Too quiet outside. It fits."
She was silent. The waves sounded as if they were listening.
"You're lonely," he then said, without a question mark.
"How do you know that?"
"Do you look like someone with a clique?"
"No."
"Well then." He shrugged. "But you shouldn't believe it will stay that way forever."
"It will."
"You're fifteen?"
"Yes."
"Then you know nothing."
"And you?"
He grinned crookedly. "I know too much."
"You talk weird."
"Maybe."
"What's your name?"
"Alaric."
She repeated the name quietly, almost like a test. "Alaric."
He looked back at the water. "Don't say that too often. Or you'll think you know me."
"And do I?"
"No. And that's better that way."
She shivered. Not because of the wind, but because of his voice – it sounded as if he was warning himself.
For a while they didn't talk. Seagulls circled, the water breathed.
Lina pulled her knees to her chest.
"I should go," she finally murmured.
"Then go."
"And you?"
"I'll stay until it gets dark."
She stood up. "Will you be here again tomorrow?"
"Maybe."
"Why only maybe?"
He looked at her, this time with a gaze that struck without moving.
No word, no smile – just this brief, dangerously calm seeing.
Something inside her contracted.
She wanted to look away but couldn't. It was as if he held her still without touching her.
Then she blinked – and the moment was over.
He turned away, raised his hood, and the sea swallowed him again.
Lina remained standing until the wind tousled her hair.
Her heart was beating too fast, too loud for so much silence.
When she finally walked up the path, everything was as before. Only her breathing was different.
At home, Tom was asleep on the sofa. The TV was muted, the controllers blinking.
She placed her shoes neatly, took off her jacket.
On the kitchen table lay a sheet of paper.
Not large, unassuming.
On it – a dark fingerprint. No text, no sign. Just that.
She furrowed her brow.
"Mom?" she called. No answer.
"Dad?" Nothing.
The print was still wet, as if someone had just left it moments ago.
She lifted the paper, wanted to turn it in the light – but at that exact moment her phone vibrated.
A message, with no name.
"Don't touch it."
Lina stared at the screen.
The paper slipped from her fingers, fell to the floor.
The print briefly glistened in the light – and then vanished.
Only the smell of salt remained in the air.
And in the darkness outside, somewhere beyond the glass,
she thought she heard a quiet laugh – rough, as if carried by the wind.