Reflections in Still Water

The morning light is softer today.

It spills gently through the gaps in the wooden planks of our storage shed, pooling across the floor in golden patches. The scent of the sea drifts in with the breeze, carrying the distant sound of gulls.

I stretch, my muscles sore but not unpleasantly so. The past few days have been full—of movement, of effort, of change. And yet, as I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I realise something surprising.

I do not hate it.

Elias is still asleep beside me, his arm draped lazily across his chest, his dark hair tousled against the wooden boards.

For a moment, I simply watch him.

Then—

I poke his cheek.

Hard.

He grumbles. "Ume—no."

I poke him again.

His eyes crack open, groggy, mildly betrayed. "What."

I grin. "We're cleaning today."

Elias groans, turning onto his side, and burrowing his face into his arm. "Let's not."

I poke him one last time before standing, stretching my arms overhead. "Too bad. You want to sleep somewhere half-decent? Then we make it half-decent."

Elias mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse directed at my enthusiasm, but he gets up anyway.

——

Cleaning is a chore.

Which, admittedly, is the point.

Dust coats every surface, the scent of old grain still lingering in the wooden beams. Elias and I work in comfortable silence, sweeping out dirt, dusting off crates, shaking out old cloths that had been abandoned in the corners.

By midday, the space actually feels liveable.

Elias exhales, tossing the broom aside. "I can't believe we're doing this."

I smirk, leaning against a crate. "It's better than sleeping in filth."

Elias groans dramatically, throwing himself onto the now-clean floor. "Is it, though?"

I nudge his leg with my foot. "Yes."

He huffs but does not argue.

Because he knows I am right.

——

The afternoon passes slowly, the kind of lazy pace that makes time feel stretched, as if the world itself is breathing easier.

We eat a simple meal—bread, dried meat, the last of the fruit we had bought earlier—before stepping out into the cool, salty breeze.

The sky has begun its slow descent into evening, the harshness of the sun fading into something gentler, something softer.

Elias stretches, rolling his shoulders. "Come on."

I raise an eyebrow. "Come on where?"

He smirks. "Fishing."

I blink. "Fishing?"

"You'll like it," he says easily.

I narrow my eyes. "How do you know?"

He shrugs. "I don't. But I think you will."

I roll my eyes but follow him anyway.

——

The sea is breathtaking.

The water stretches endlessly before us, reflecting the hues of the sky—soft golds melting into deep blues. The waves lap gently against the wooden pier, the rhythmic sound settling something in me.

Elias hands me a fishing rod, his expression amused.

I frown at it. "How do you even use this?"

Elias hums. "You throw it in the water and hope for the best."

I glare at him. "That is not how this works."

He grins. "It's how I'm going to do it."

And with that, he casts his line into the water with zero technique, looking far too pleased with himself.

I sigh, shaking my head, but mimic his movements.

The line disappears beneath the surface.

And then—

We wait.

It is peaceful, the kind of quiet that is full rather than empty. The world around us hums with the gentle lull of the tide, the occasional distant chatter of villagers passing by.

Elias leans back slightly, his gaze flicking toward me.

"You're enjoying this," he muses.

I pretend to consider. "It's tolerable."

He smirks. "That means you like it."

I do not confirm nor deny.

I simply watch the water, feeling the weight of the moment settle into my bones, soft and content.

——

By the time we finish, the sky has darkened, the stars beginning to wake.

Elias stretches, adjusting the small bucket of fish we managed to catch. "Alright. One last thing before we sleep."

I raise an eyebrow. "Which is?"

He grins. "Bathhouse."

——

The bathhouse is a small, secluded area near Velia's cliffs, where heated water pools naturally from the underground springs.

The villagers refer to it as The Seaside Spring, a place where weary fishermen and traders come to wash away the day's toil.

Steam rises from the water, mist curling along the rocks, the sound of trickling water echoing softly in the quiet.

I inhale, the heat sinking into my skin.

It is… soothing.

Necessary.

Elias is already stepping toward the changing area, rolling his shoulders. "Don't drown."

I roll my eyes. "Same to you."

And with that, we part ways.

——

The mirror catches me off guard.

It is old, slightly worn, its surface not entirely polished—but it reflects me nonetheless.

And for the first time—I truly see myself.

My breath catches.

The dim candlelight flickers against my skin, casting soft highlights along my cheekbones, my lips, my throat. My hair, damp with steam, clings to my shoulders, strands falling loosely over my collarbone.

And my eyes—

They are striking.

Deep, dark, but holding a kind of brightness, a quiet intensity that I had never noticed before.

I stare.

And I understand.

I am… beautiful.

Not in the way one simply acknowledges a fact, but in a way that startles me.

It is as if I am discovering myself for the first time.

And for a brief moment—

I wonder how long Elias spent creating me.

How many hours he adjusted, refined, perfected—

And for what?

A character he never meant to play?

Something temporary?

A passing amusement?

I swallow, a strange warmth curling in my chest, a tightness forming beneath my ribs.

I do not know if I am grateful.

I do not know if it is love.

But I do know this—

I am here.

I am real.

And I am worth looking at.

I exhale slowly, my fingers grazing my reflection.

Then—

I turn away.

Because the water awaits.

And outside, beneath the quiet, watching stars—

Elias is waiting too.