Justlonely

They say some love stories drown beneath the surface — forgotten, lost to the tides of time. Mara thought she had left the past behind, until a forgotten letter washes ashore, unraveling secrets her heart wasn’t ready to face.

Haunted by the ghost of a love that never fully surfaced, Mara must navigate the depths of grief, forgiveness, and hope. In a town shadowed by loss, she finds unexpected allies — a mysterious stranger with his own scars, and a young girl searching for light.

Together, they learn that healing isn’t about forgetting the storm — it’s about learning to swim in the waves it leaves behind.

Inspired by the haunting melodies of Seafret’s “Atlantis,” this is a story of love lost and found, of the lighthouses we carry within, and the courage it takes to finally come up for air.

Where We Drown

The boat was more skeleton than ship.

Peeling blue paint flaked from its hull, and vines had begun to curl up the sides like the earth was trying to claim it. But Jonah stood beside it like a man looking at a wounded friend, not a lost cause.

"She doesn't look like much," he said, running a hand over the wood, "but I've always thought things that break easy were worth saving."

Mara raised an eyebrow. "That's a terrible philosophy."

Jonah grinned. "Maybe. But it got me through losing her."

They worked in easy silence. Mara scraped off old paint while Jonah replaced rusted nails and told her stories about storms that nearly pulled the sea apart. She didn't talk much. But there was something sacred in working with her hands, in turning decay into possibility.

Some days she cried without warning — salt on her cheeks, not unlike the sea spray. Jonah never asked. He just handed her a rag or said, "That's the wind's way of remembering."

Flashback: The Night It Ended

They were lying side by side, back when they still shared the same bed — or at least, the same space. The ceiling fan clicked like a slow metronome. Mara watched it spin and counted seconds between Eliot's breaths.

"I feel like I'm always holding my breath," she whispered.

"Like… if I exhale, I'll lose you."

He let out a long, tired sigh. "Maybe you already have."

Mara turned to face him. "So that's it?"

He looked at her like someone who had already left. "You keep trying to build something out of me, Mara.

But I was never whole to begin with."

"You're not supposed to be my glue."

Her voice cracked. "But I loved you."

"I know," he said. "That's what makes this harder."

That night, they slept with their backs to each other. And in the morning, he was gone — just a mug left in the sink and the sound of silence heavier than anything else she'd ever carried.

Back in the present.

Mara stood on the bow of the half-fixed boat, a paintbrush in hand, sun on her face. Jonah was humming an old folk song beneath his breath.

"You ever think we get second chances?" she asked.

Jonah didn't look up. "Second, third, fourth. Life keeps giving them. We're just not always ready to take them."

Mara dipped her brush back into the paint. "Maybe I'm ready now."

He glanced up. "Then don't waste it."

That evening, Mara returned to the cliffside, notebook in hand. Instead of writing to Eliot or herself, she wrote to the version of her that believed broken love meant failed love.

You were not foolish for holding on.

Love that ends still matters.

Let it matter. Let it go.

The sea below was calm. For once, she didn't feel like drowning.

She closed the notebook and whispered, "Goodnight, Eliot." And for the first time, it wasn't a goodbye.

It was just a memory she could keep without it hurting.

Chapter 4: Driftwood and Ghost Songs