The night air clung gently to your skin, warm but carried by a soft ocean breeze that tasted faintly of salt. The moon hung heavy in the sky, a silver coin tossed into the darkness, its reflection dancing across the gentle waves like whispers of forgotten dreams. You didn't know what brought you to the beach that night—maybe restlessness, maybe fate.
The sand was cool beneath your feet, the crunch of each step softened by the hush of the surf. You walked slowly, lost in your thoughts, when you noticed someone standing near the water's edge.
At first, he was just a silhouette, dark against the shimmer of the sea. His posture was relaxed, hands in his pockets, hair tousled by the wind. He seemed almost part of the scenery, like he belonged there—like he always had. You might've walked right past if it weren't for the way the moonlight caught his eyes when he turned. Bright blue. Almost unreal.
"Hey," he said, voice low, calm. It wasn't a greeting exactly—more like an invitation. As if he'd been expecting you.
You hesitated, but something about him made you step closer.
"You come out here often?" you asked, trying for casual.
He smiled. "Only when the ocean's calling."
You blinked. "That's...poetic."
He tilted his head, looking out toward the waves. "Maybe. But I mean it."
You studied him in silence for a moment. His features were soft but defined, the kind of face that made you wonder about the stories behind it. The wind tugged at his shirt, and the moonlight made his skin glow faintly, like he was part of the night itself.
"I'm Lumian," he said suddenly.
You introduced yourself, and the way he said your name made it sound new. Like it meant something more.
"So, what brings you out here?" he asked.
You shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."
"That makes two of us."
The two of you stood there, side by side, not quite touching but closer than strangers should be. You listened to the waves for a while, the silence between you easy, natural.
"I like this time of night," Lumian said. "It's like the world is paused. Everyone else is asleep, but we're awake—witnesses to something quiet and sacred."
You nodded slowly. "Feels like the ocean's telling secrets."
He looked at you then, a strange kind of light in his eyes. "You hear it too."
It didn't feel like a question.
The wind picked up, and you folded your arms against the chill. Without a word, Lumian shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. It was warm, smelled faintly of salt and something you couldn't place—like driftwood and memory.
"Thanks," you murmured.
He just smiled.
You walked along the shoreline together, talking about nothing and everything. The stars reflected in his eyes like galaxies. He told you stories—of storms he'd watched roll in across the horizon, of dolphins dancing in moonlight, of a time he swam so far out he lost sight of the shore.
"There's freedom in the water," he said. "It doesn't care who you are. It'll carry you or drown you all the same."
You paused. "That's kind of terrifying."
He laughed, and it was soft, genuine. "It is. But it's honest. I like that."
The night deepened, the moon rising higher. Time became strange, the minutes stretching and folding into something slower, more dreamlike.
At one point, Lumian sat down in the sand, legs crossed, staring out at the sea. You joined him.
He glanced at you. "Do you ever feel like...you're meant to meet someone? Like the universe plotted a course just to bring two people to the same spot at the same moment?"
You looked at him, his eyes so clear and blue they almost glowed. "Sometimes."
He leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the stars. "Maybe that's us."
The words hung between you like a promise, heavy with possibility.
You didn't know what to say. Part of you wanted to ask who he really was, where he came from, why he seemed so certain of things that felt like dreams. But part of you didn't want to break the spell.
"Do you ever feel like you don't belong in the regular world?" you asked.
"All the time," he replied without hesitation. "But out here, with the tide and the sky...I feel real."
The wind played with his hair, and he turned to you again. "What about you?"
You hesitated. "I think...I've been searching for something. I just didn't know what."
He smiled again. "Maybe you've found it."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was full of shared thoughts, unspoken understanding, something unnameable building in the space between your breaths.
Eventually, he lay back in the sand, hands behind his head. You followed his lead. The stars above seemed brighter now, or maybe it was just the contrast of your heart beating louder in your chest.
"You ever wonder what it'd be like to just leave everything behind?" he asked. "Start over somewhere no one knows you?"
You turned your head to look at him. "You've done that?"
He didn't answer for a long moment. "Let's just say I've left a lot of places behind."
There was something in his voice—a weight, a memory, maybe even pain. You didn't press.
Instead, you asked, "Would you ever stay?"
His gaze met yours, and for a moment, everything else faded.
"Maybe," he said softly. "If there was a reason."
The waves kept rolling in, steady and timeless. You lay there together until the sky began to lighten at the edges, the first hint of dawn creeping in like a secret.
Lumian sat up, brushing sand from his hands. "It's almost morning."
You nodded. "Will I see you again?"
He stood, looking down at you with those sea-glass eyes. "I think you already know the answer."
He helped you up, his fingers lingering in yours for just a second too long.
"I'll be around," he said, then added, "when the tide's right."
And with that, he walked off into the soft mist of the waking world, disappearing like a dream you weren't ready to wake from.
You stood there for a long while, watching the sea. The waves felt different now—warmer, somehow. Alive.
You didn't know where Lumian came from or why meeting him felt like a memory you were only now recalling. But you knew one thing for sure.
You'd come back.
Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Maybe under another moon.
Because the ocean had whispered something to you that night, and his name was written in the tide.