The mirror in the hotel washroom was too clean.
Too bright.
Too honest.
Jana stood in front of it, her hands gripping the sink as if it could hold her together. Her boyfriend leaned against the tiled wall, bored eyes sliding over her like she was something he'd already thrown away.
"Don't look at me like that," he scoffed. "You were never serious to me. Just a… time pass. Cute, innocent, entertaining. Now the entertainment is over."
The words hit harder than the sound of the paper towel dispenser slamming shut.
Jana swallowed. Hard. Her voice tried to rise, but her throat betrayed her.
"I—I thought—"
"That was the problem," he cut in, brushing past her. "You thought too much. Now don't cling. It's embarrassing."
The door shut behind him.
The silence exploded inside her chest.
Jana stood there, a ghost inside her own body. Her eyes burned—but she blinked the tears back, because she had always been good at one thing:
Hiding pain.
She splashed cold water on her face, wiped her cheeks until no trace remained, and stepped outside.
Her manager was already waiting for her behind the front desk of BlueCrescent Resort, arms crossed, impatience dripping from him.
"Jana," he said sharply. "Fifteen days of absence. Salary cut."
Her heart dropped. "Please—sir, I just joined. I really needed—"
"You can quit if you want," he said flatly.
Her words died. Her pride died. Something warm inside her died.
And then her phone vibrated.
Mother.
She answered quietly. "Mom?"
A voice sharper than broken glass shot through the speaker.
"Send money. Today. Don't pretend you're busy—useless girl! If I had a better daughter—"
Jana ended the call, because breathing had become painful.
Every road in her life pointed to one word.
Worthless.
Worthless lover.
Worthless worker.
Worthless daughter.
So she walked.
Out of the hotel.
Past the shops.
Past the lights.
Down to the ocean.
The sea at night looked like something that swallowed secrets.
The wind kept tugging her hair back, as if asking one last time:
Are you sure?
Jana stepped closer. The waves greeted her ankles.
She whispered broken things into the dark.
"I can't do it anymore. I can't… I can't be everyone's disappointment."
The tide rose.
"This will be the end of my chapter," she murmured.
And she stepped forward.
The water embraced her like cold arms.
Salt burned her eyes.
The world tilted, then spun, then—
A hand caught her wrist.
Not human.
Not warm.
It yanked her deeper, not up.
Jana fought, lungs screaming, body twisting.
Her eyes opened—and in the faint shimmer of moonlight cutting through the water, she saw her.
A woman of impossible beauty.
Chocolate-brown hair floating like silk in the currents.
Skin pale as moonstone.
And where legs should be—
A shimmering violet tail, scales glowing like distant stars.
A mermaid. A nightmare. A miracle.
Jana tried to scream, but only bubbles escaped.
The woman's eyes—deep, violet, ancient—held hers with a sharp, almost cruel calm.
"Dying," the siren whispered into the water, her voice echoing inside Jana's bones,
"is never the solution."
Jana's vision blurred.
"You never wanted to kill yourself," the siren breathed,
"you wanted to kill your pain. But pain doesn't die. It lives with you. It shapes you. Without pain… where is happiness?"
Oxygen abandoned her.
Her lungs convulsed.
Darkness crawled over her sight.
And just before she disappeared into it, the siren pressed her mouth against Jana's—not a kiss, but a transfer. A flood of something warm, glowing, alive. Air. Energy. Life.
Then everything went black.
—
When Jana woke, she was lying on a narrow bed in the Seawatch Local Clinic, sunlight pouring through the thin curtains. Her clothes were gone, replaced with a hospital gown. Her head throbbed.
On the small bedside table sat a single object:
a light-violet seashell, its edges smooth like polished bone.
Words were carved inside in delicate strokes:
"Siren does not save unworthy humans."
Jana touched the shell with trembling fingertips.
Siren.
That was her name.
And the moment Jana whispered it, the ocean outside the window seemed to pulse—as if something ancient had just marked her fate.