Beneath The Wild Sky

Chapter 6: Sea Glass

The attic groaned in protest as Sereia pulled the ladder down and climbed up into the dust-laden space. The air was thick with heat and age. Afternoon sunlight spilled through the small circular window, casting a dim glow over the chaos. Cardboard boxes, ancient trunks, and sagging crates were piled in unsteady stacks, blanketed with cobwebs.

She coughed and waved the dust away, heart already heavy. Most of it would need to be sorted, donated, or thrown out. But some things—some things might be worth keeping.

She started with a small cedar chest by the far wall. It smelled like pine and lavender when she opened it, and inside were folded linens, old photos, and a leather-bound journal. She set the journal aside and dug further until her fingers brushed something familiar: a small wooden box, the kind she remembered from her childhood. Her grandmother used to let her hide “secrets” in it—rocks, buttons, seashells.

She opened the lid.

Sea glass. Dozens of pieces, smoothed by time and tide. Greens, blues, the occasional rare red. A folded note rested on top.

Her breath caught as she recognized the handwriting.

Kaelen’s.

Sereia unfolded the note with trembling fingers. The ink was faded but legible.

“Sereia—

Found these this morning. Remember when we said we’d collect enough to cover the whole porch? I think we were ten. Still not even close. Thought you’d want these anyway.

– K”

There was no date. No explanation. Just the casual tone of something left behind without knowing it might one day feel like a relic.

Sereia smiled despite herself. She remembered that morning. Kaelen had dragged her down the beach before sunrise, claiming the tide would be perfect for treasure hunting. They'd combed the sand for hours, picking out pieces, laughing at the broken ones, cheering for the reds.

It was a silly dream. A porch lined in sea glass. But it had felt so real at the time—so permanent.

She set the box beside her and reached for another crate. This one was heavier, sealed with yellowing tape. She slit it open with her house key, revealing a mix of photo frames, old drawings, and a half-crushed shoebox. She lifted the shoebox out carefully, brushing off the dust.

Inside were more photos, some curled at the edges. One caught her attention immediately: a snapshot of her and Kaelen at fifteen. Sereia had taken the photo in the mirror, both of them wrapped in towels after a rainstorm, grinning like fools.

She traced the image with her thumb. That grin—Kaelen’s, wide and bright—had once made her feel like the sun had chosen her.

The silence of the attic pressed in, thick with memory.

She almost didn’t see it: a second note tucked beneath the photo.

This one was folded smaller, edges worn from being handled too often. And this time, it wasn’t just Kaelen’s handwriting.

It was a letter. And it was addressed to her.

“Sereia,

I don’t know if I’ll ever give this to you. Probably not. That’s how these things go, right? You don’t say the thing you need to, and then time steals your courage. Still, I needed to write it somewhere. Just once.

I think I’m in love with you. I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time. Maybe always. But I never said anything, because I didn’t want to lose what we had. Because you were always going to leave, and I couldn’t be the reason you stayed.

So I stayed quiet. I smiled and cheered for you and watched you go.

And I don’t regret it. Not really. But sometimes, when it’s quiet, I wonder what would’ve happened if I had asked you to stay.”

No signature. None needed.

Sereia’s hands trembled. Her throat closed.

Kaelen had loved her.

Had.

Past tense.

She sat frozen for a long time, letter in her lap, sea glass glinting like memories beside her.

A decade of silence. Of assumptions. She had thought Kaelen never felt the same. Had swallowed that ache like saltwater, bitter and bracing. And all along, Kaelen had written these words, tucked them into a box, buried them in the attic like something too fragile to be spoken aloud.

How many times had they passed one another in their youth with words just on the edge of being said?

Sereia pressed the letter to her chest, blinking back tears. She didn’t know if Kaelen even remembered writing it. If those feelings were still real. If they had faded with time or grown roots like wild sea plants beneath the waves.

But now, at least, she wasn’t the only one who had loved in silence.

And maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late to say something back.