The storm didn't last forever. It never does.
But when it ended, it didn't leave him in peace — just in ruins.
The sea was still again, weirdly still. Like the world was holding its breath. The rain had stopped, but everything was soaked — the boat, his clothes, his skin, his soul. Water dripped from his eyelashes like tears he didn't feel.
He lay flat on the wooden bench, arms limp over the side, the key still wrapped in his fingers like it had grown there.
His muscles ached. His stomach twisted in a tight knot. His throat was dry. But worst of all — his head felt… clearer.
And that scared him more than the storm.
Because now the memories weren't creeping in.
They were pouring.
He didn't need to close his eyes anymore to see them.
Flash.
The locked bathroom door.
Water spilling over the edge of the tub.
A phone buzzing nonstop on the floor.
Flash.
His name. Finally.
Arin.
He sat up slowly, the name sitting heavy in his chest.
His name. His real name. Why had it taken so long?
The sea stretched out the same as always, but now… now he noticed something. Far off. Barely visible through the thick air.
A shape.
He blinked.
No — he wasn't seeing things. There was something out there. A faint line. A curve.
Land.
He nearly tipped the boat scrambling to stand. His voice cracked as he shouted, "HEY! LAND! HEY!"
It didn't echo. Just disappeared into the air like everything else.
But it was there. Finally.
He dropped to his knees and began using his hands like paddles, scooping water furiously. It barely worked, but he didn't care. He'd go mad sitting still. He needed to move — even if it was an inch.
As he pushed forward, slowly, clumsily, he kept his eyes on the shore. The shape of trees. The jagged rocks. A beach, maybe. It looked close. Almost too close.
But the more he paddled…
The more it stayed the same.
Like it was stuck in the distance.
Or worse — like he was.
He stopped, breathing hard.
The boat drifted, but the land didn't move. Not closer. Not further. Just… there.
His heart sank. He looked over the edge, hoping to see the sea floor, or even fish, anything. But the water was pitch black now. Like glass reflecting the nothing above it.
Then he noticed the boat again.
It was falling apart.
Not suddenly — but subtly. The paint was almost all gone now. The wood was cracking, soft and splintered. Water leaked through the seams. It wasn't a boat anymore. It was a coffin with sides.
And he was still inside it.
He clutched the key around his neck, pressing it into his chest.
Then came the final rush.
Flash.
The fight.
Lia yelling through the door.
Arin screaming back: "You don't get it! You'll never get it!"
Flash.
His phone. A goodbye message typed and deleted.
Typed again.
Deleted again.
Flash.
Lying in the tub.
Water rising.
The key turning in the lock.
Then silence.
He dropped the key.
He understood now.
The boat… wasn't real.
The ocean… wasn't real.
Even this journey — wasn't real.
He wasn't lost at sea.
He was in his own mind.
Drifting.
Alone.
In a coma, maybe. Or the space between life and death. He didn't know which.
But the land?
The land wasn't land.
It was the end.
He sat back, the boat gently rocking. Not trying to fight anymore.
The sea didn't look scary now. Just tired.
And for the first time, Arin felt tired too. Bone-deep tired. Like he'd been running from something inside him for so long, he forgot what it felt like to stop.
The key rested near his feet, rusted and still.
He picked it up one more time, stared at it, then let it fall into the water.
It didn't sink. It just… vanished.
No splash. No ripple. Just gone.
Just like he would be.