You returned to the beach three nights later.
Not because you expected to see him.
But because something in you needed to.
The moon wasn't full this time—just a silver crescent hanging crooked in the sky, like it had something to hide. The tide was higher, rougher. Wind tugged at your clothes as if trying to push you back, but you walked on, past the dunes, down to the place where the sea first touched sand.
He wasn't there.
You didn't know why you felt disappointed—he hadn't promised anything. Just said he'd be around when the tide's right. But the memory of his voice still echoed in your thoughts, carried on the waves like driftwood that refuses to sink.
So you sat down and waited.
You traced patterns in the sand with your fingers. Watched the stars ripple in the ocean's reflection. Thought about how someone you met for only a few hours could stay in your mind like a thread woven into your breath.
Then, just when you'd started to wonder if you'd imagined him, you heard his voice again.
"You came back."
You turned, heart lurching.
There he was.
Same tousled hair. Same calm presence. Same electric blue eyes, glowing faintly in the moonlight like they held a storm behind them.
"You said the tide had to be right," you replied.
He stepped closer. "It is."
You weren't sure what that meant—but something in you relaxed just seeing him again.
"Have you been here this whole time?" you asked.
"Here and not," he said cryptically. "Sometimes I drift."
"Drift where?"
He looked past you, out to the sea. "Places the map doesn't cover."
You didn't know if he was being poetic or if he really meant it. With Lumian, the line between reality and dream blurred constantly. And you were beginning not to mind.
You walked together again, feet bare in the wet sand. He didn't say much this time. Neither did you. But it wasn't uncomfortable—it was full. Like silence between old friends.
At one point, he stopped and picked something up—a smooth black stone, no bigger than a coin.
"Keep it," he said, placing it in your hand. "It's from a place far away. You won't find it in any souvenir shop."
You looked at it, surprised by its warmth despite the cool night. "Why give it to me?"
He smiled. "Because I want you to remember."
"Remember what?"
"That this is real."
The way he said it sent shivers up your spine.
You wanted to ask—what are you? Not just who, but what. He didn't feel entirely like a regular person. There was something more in the way he moved, how the ocean seemed to bend gently around him, like it knew him by name.
He sat again in the sand, looking up at the sky. You joined him.
"I used to think I was alone in this," he said softly. "The drifting. The not-belonging."
You glanced at him. "You're not."
He looked at you then, and there was something raw in his eyes. "I know that now."
The waves came closer, brushing your ankles. The sea was creeping in, slowly wrapping the shore in silver foam.
"There's something I should tell you," Lumian said.
You straightened, sensing a shift in the air.
"I'm not from here," he said.
You blinked. "Like...not from this town?"
He shook his head slowly. "Not from here. Not fully."
There was no humor in his eyes. Only honesty.
You didn't speak.
"I was born of water," he continued. "Or called by it. I don't know. I've been on the move my whole life. Land never feels right for long."
You tried to process what he was saying. Was he serious? Was this a metaphor?
He reached out, brushing your fingers with his. "I don't usually stay. Not with people. But I keep thinking about you. About that first night."
"So what now?" you asked.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I want to find out."
The sea curled higher, and you could feel it pulsing—alive, aware.
"Would you leave again?" you asked quietly.
He looked down. "I might have to."
You gripped the stone in your hand.
"Then don't make promises you can't keep."
"I'm not," he said. "I'm just asking you...to come with me."
You froze. "What?"
"Not forever," he said. "Just for a while. Come see what I see. Hear the ocean how I hear it."
You searched his face. "Is this real?"
He nodded. "As real as anything."
You felt like you were standing at the edge of something enormous—something that could change your life completely. Maybe even take it apart. But Lumian was looking at you like you were already part of his story. Like he didn't want to write the next chapter without you.
The waves curled around your toes, warm and cold at once.
"If I say yes," you asked, "what happens?"
He stood and offered his hand.
"Then the tide carries us."
You looked at his hand. You remembered the stone. His eyes. That strange sense from the very first night—that none of this was coincidence.
And then...
You reached out.
And took his hand.