Discharge Day
Nana practically skipped down the hospital corridor, her mission report already filed, her schedule cleared for the afternoon. Rafayel was being discharged today, and somehow the knowledge made everything feel lighter. Brighter.
"It's just because the job is wrapping up", she told herself. "Just because I'm glad my client is recovering. Nothing more."
"Definitely not because I've been counting down the hours until I could see him again."
"Definitely not because I checked my phone seventeen times this morning to see if he'd texted."
"Definitely not because—"
She rounded the corner and saw him.
Rafayel was standing in the hallway outside his room, already dressed in regular clothes—soft gray sweater, black pants, his hair slightly damp like he'd just showered. He was talking to a nurse, signing discharge papers, and then he looked up.
Their eyes met.
And he *smiled*—that genuine, unguarded smile that made his whole face light up, that reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners, that looked like sunrise after a long night.
Before Nana could stop herself, she was hurrying toward him, her professional bodyguard composure completely forgotten.
"You're here!" Rafayel said, and he sounded almost surprised. Like he'd been hoping but not quite believing.
"Of course I'm here," Nana said. "I said I'd come."
"You did," Rafayel agreed softly. "And you keep your promises."
Something in his tone—gratitude and relief and old grief all tangled together—made her chest tighten. But before she could examine that feeling too closely, Rafayel was reaching for her hand.
"Walk me out?" he asked. "I'm officially a free man. No more hospital food. No more dramatic nurses threatening to sedate me."
"They threatened to sedate you again?" Nana asked, amused.
"Only twice this morning," Rafayel said cheerfully. "I'm improving. Yesterday it was four times."
"You're impossible."
"And yet you keep showing up."
"Someone has to make sure you don't injure yourself again within five minutes of discharge."
"That's very responsible of you." Rafayel squeezed her hand gently as they walked toward the exit. "Almost like you care about me or something."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late. It's already there. Throwing a party. Again."
Behind them, the nurse who'd been helping with discharge paperwork watched them go, shaking her head fondly. "Those two," she muttered to her colleague. "They bicker like an old married couple."
"I give it a month before they realize they're dating," her colleague replied.
"Bold of you to assume they're not already dating and just haven't noticed yet."
Thomas was waiting in the hospital parking lot, leaning against his car with a knowing expression that Rafayel chose to ignore.
"Miss Wang," Thomas greeted. "How kind of you to ensure our dramatic patient makes it home safely."
"Someone has to," Nana said. "And please, just call me Nana."
"Nana, then." Thomas opened the back door. "Shall we? I've been instructed to take a 'scenic route' that happens to pass by the beach near White Sand Bay."
"I didn't instruct anything," Rafayel protested, sliding into the back seat. "I merely suggested—"
"You sent me three texts this morning about 'optimal routes for shell viewing,'" Thomas interrupted. "That's instructing."
Nana laughed and slid in beside Rafayel. "Shell viewing?"
"It's a thing," Rafayel said defensively. "A very legitimate thing. The shells are particularly beautiful after storms, and there was a storm two days ago, so—"
"So you want to collect more shells for painting," Nana finished.
"Exactly!" Rafayel brightened. "See? She understands me."
"Someone has to," Thomas muttered, but he was smiling as he started the car.
The drive to White Sand Bay was comfortable—Rafayel pointing out various landmarks and telling increasingly embellished stories about them, Nana calling him out on the obvious exaggerations, Thomas occasionally interjecting with the actual facts.
"And that lighthouse," Rafayel said, gesturing dramatically, "was built by a sea god who fell in love with a human—"
"It was built in 1987 by the coastal commission," Thomas corrected.
"—and every full moon, you can hear the ghost of their love story in the foghorn—"
"It's a standard maritime safety device."
"—crying out for the soulmate they lost to the cruel forces of fate—"
"Rafayel, it's literally just a lighthouse."
"You have no romance in your soul, Thomas."
Nana was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. "Please never stop," she gasped. "This is the best thing I've heard all week."
"Finally, someone who appreciates my storytelling!" Rafayel said triumphantly.
"I didn't say it was good," Nana clarified. "I said it was entertaining. There's a difference."
"You're both terrible," Rafayel declared, but he was grinning.
They arrived at White Sand Bay in the late afternoon, the sun still high but beginning its slow descent toward evening. The beach was perfect—empty, pristine, the sand still damp from the recent storm.
"Shell collecting awaits," Rafayel announced, already heading toward the water.
"Your ankle," Nana reminded him.
"Is completely healed!" Rafayel did a little jump to demonstrate, landing perfectly. "See? Good as new. The doctors cleared me for all activities. Including shell collecting and—"
He didn't finish the sentence because Nana had playfully pushed him.
Not hard. Just enough to make him stumble backward toward the shallow water.
"Nana!" Rafayel yelped, his feet hitting the wet sand. "You—that's—I'm in my good clothes!"
"You said you were healed!" Nana called back, laughing.
"I didn't say I wanted to test it by getting soaked!"
"Too late now!"
Rafayel looked down at his wet shoes, then up at Nana's laughing face. Something mischievous entered his expression.
"Oh, you're going to regret that," he said, advancing on her with predatory intent.
"Rafayel, don't you dare—"
"You started this!"
"I was being playful!"
"So am I!"
Nana shrieked and ran, Rafayel chasing after her along the beach. She was fast—Hunter training making her quick and agile—but Rafayel had the advantage of knowing the beach, of being able to predict where the sand was soft versus firm.
He caught her around the waist, both of them laughing, and in one smooth motion, swung them both toward the water.
"Rafayel, no—!"
*Splash*.
They went down together in the shallow surf, water soaking them both instantly. Nana came up sputtering, her hair plastered to her face, her clothes completely drenched.
"You—you—" she started, but couldn't finish because she was laughing too hard.
Rafayel was laughing too, sitting in the water beside her, looking absolutely delighted with himself. "Told you you'd regret it."
"We're both soaked now!"
"Yes, but I took you down with me. That's what matters."
"You're impossible!"
"You keep saying that like it's a bad thing."
Nana splashed him. He splashed back. Within seconds they were engaged in a full water fight, shrieking and laughing like children, completely forgetting about shell collecting or dry clothes or anything beyond this moment.
Thomas, watching from the car, took a photo and sent it to his sister with the caption: *Remember when I said my boss was a dramatic disaster? He's also apparently five years old when near water. And possibly in love. Send help.*
They played in the water for over an hour, the shell collecting completely forgotten.
Rafayel taught Nana how to read the waves—when to jump, when to dive under, when to just let them carry you. She was tentative at first, remembering that she couldn't swim, but he never let go of her hand. Never let her drift too far.
"I've got you," he kept saying. "I promise. I won't let anything happen to you."
And somehow, she believed him.
They collected shells after all—but only the ones that washed up near them as they played. Nana found a perfect pink conch that made Rafayel's eyes light up with artistic inspiration. Rafayel found a piece of sea glass, worn smooth by decades of waves, and placed it carefully in her palm.
"For you," he said. "To remember today."
"I don't need a reminder," Nana said softly. "I'm not going to forget this."
*Good*, Rafayel thought. *Hold onto this. Hold onto all of it. Every laugh, every splash, every moment. Because these are the memories that matter. These are the ones that transcend lifetimes.*
The sun was starting to set when they finally emerged from the water, both thoroughly soaked and covered in sand. Rafayel had already texted Thomas earlier (waterproof phone case, because he'd learned his lesson about phones and water years ago), so dry clothes were waiting in the car.
They changed—Nana in the studio, Rafayel in his house—and met back on the beach as the sunset painted everything in shades of amber and gold.
"Our time," Nana murmured, watching the sun descend.
"Always our time," Rafayel agreed, and his voice was soft. Full of meaning she couldn't quite decipher.
They sat on the rocks, shoulders touching, watching in comfortable silence until the last sliver of sun disappeared below the horizon.
"Thank you," Rafayel said quietly. "For today. For visiting me in the hospital. For keeping your promises. For... being here."
"Where else would I be?" Nana asked.
*Anywhere*, Rafayel thought. *In your village, dying of disease. In some distant city I can't reach. In danger I can't protect you from. Gone. Always gone.*
*But not this time.*
*This time you're here.*
"Nowhere," he said aloud. "You're exactly where you should be."
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🐚🐚🐚
Thomas drove Nana home as the sky darkened, stars beginning to appear one by one. Rafayel had insisted on coming along—"to make sure she gets home safely"—which fooled absolutely no one.
Nana sat in the back, Rafayel beside her, their hands linked between them. Neither questioned it. Neither pulled away. It felt natural. Right.
*Like we've done this a thousand times before*, Nana thought, and the thought should have been strange but wasn't.
"Today was perfect," she said, breaking the comfortable silence.
"We got completely soaked and collected maybe three shells total," Rafayel pointed out.
"Exactly. Perfect."
He laughed, squeezing her hand. "You have a very generous definition of perfect."
"Or maybe you're just that good at making days memorable."
"I—" Rafayel stopped, something soft entering his expression. "Thank you. That's... thank you."
They were quiet for a moment. Then Nana took a breath, gathering courage for what she wanted to ask.
"Rafayel?"
"Mm?"
"Next week—if you're not too busy—there's this cafe I've been wanting to visit. But it's..." She hesitated. "It's designed for couples. The whole aesthetic is very romantic, and they have this policy where they seat pairs together, and I've always wanted to go but I'm single, so—"
"Yes," Rafayel interrupted.
Nana blinked. "I didn't finish asking."
"You were going to ask if I'd go with you," Rafayel said. "And the answer is yes. Absolutely yes. I would love to go to a couples cafe with you."
"Oh." Nana felt her cheeks warm. "Okay. Good. I mean—it's not a date or anything. Just two friends visiting a cafe that happens to cater to couples."
"Right," Rafayel agreed, his eyes twinkling. "Definitely not a date."
"Exactly."
"Just two friends."
"Two friends who happen to hold hands sometimes."
"And feed each other fruit."
"And play in the ocean together."
"And watch sunsets."
"And—" Nana stopped, realizing. "Okay, when you list it all out like that, it sounds like we're dating."
"Does it?" Rafayel asked innocently. "I hadn't noticed."
"You're doing the thing again. The teasing thing."
"Am I?" He was definitely trying not to smile. "How terrible of me."
Nana rolled her eyes but couldn't stop her own smile. "Next week, then? The cafe?"
"Next week," Rafayel confirmed. "It's a not-date."
"Definitely not a date."
"The most platonic couples cafe visit in history."
"Exactly."
They grinned at each other, both fully aware they were lying, neither caring.
In the driver's seat, Thomas tried very hard not to laugh.
---
## Single Since Birth
They arrived at Nana's apartment building, the streetlights casting warm pools of light on the pavement. Rafayel walked her to her door—because of course he did—still holding her hand.
"Thank you for today," Nana said, reluctant to let go. "I had fun. Even though you pushed me into the ocean."
"You pushed me first," Rafayel pointed out.
"Details."
"Important details."
They stood there for a moment, neither quite wanting the day to end.
"Nana?" Rafayel said softly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in that absent-minded way he did. "That cafe. Next week. Can I ask why you haven't gone before? I mean, I'm sure you've had... people you could have asked."
"Not really," Nana admitted. "I've been single since... well, since always. Never really clicked with anyone, you know? My friends say I'm too picky."
*You're not picky*, Rafayel thought. *You're waiting. We both are. The bond won't let anyone else in. Won't let us love anyone except the person we're meant for.*
*That's why I've been alone for three hundred years.*
*That's why you've never found anyone who feels right.*
*Because we were waiting for each other.*
"That's not being picky," he said aloud. "That's having standards. Knowing what you want. Not settling for something that doesn't feel right."
"You sound like you understand."
"I do." Rafayel smiled, sad and knowing. "I've been single for... a long time. My whole life, really. Thomas keeps trying to set me up with people—artists, collectors, gallery owners. Says I need to 'get out there.'"
"But nothing ever clicks?" Nana guessed.
"Nothing ever clicks," Rafayel confirmed. "Until—" He stopped himself just in time. "Until you know, you know. That feeling when something finally feels *right*."
Nana nodded, understanding perfectly. "Yeah. That feeling."
*The feeling I get with you*, she didn't say.
*The feeling I've been searching for my whole life*, she didn't say.
*The feeling that makes me think maybe I've been waiting for you specifically*, she didn't say.
But Rafayel heard it anyway. In the way she looked at him. In the way she hadn't let go of his hand. In the way the mark on her neck pulsed warm and bright.
"Next week," he said again, softer this time. "The not-date at the couples cafe."
"I'll text you the details," Nana promised.
"I'll be there."
"Promise?"
"Promise," Rafayel said, and squeezed her hand three times. Once for each word: *I promise you*.
Nana squeezed back—three times, mirror image.
They stood there for another moment, neither wanting to break the connection. Finally, reluctantly, Nana pulled her hand free.
"Goodnight, Rafayel," she said, backing toward her door.
"Goodnight, Nana."
She paused at the door, looking back at him. "Thank you. For today. For everything. For being..."
*What?* Rafayel wanted to ask. *Being what?*
"For being you," Nana finished softly. "I'm really glad I met you."
*I'm glad I found you again*, Rafayel thought. *I'm glad fate gave us another chance. I'm glad you're here, alive, smiling at me like that.*
*I'm glad for everything, even the three hundred years of waiting, because they led to this moment.*
"Me too," he said simply. "Get some rest. I'll see you next week."
"Next week," Nana agreed, and finally slipped inside.
Thomas drove Rafayel back to White Sand Bay in comfortable silence. They were almost home when he finally spoke.
"You're in deep," Thomas observed.
"I know," Rafayel said.
"She has no idea you're essentially courting her."
"She has some idea. She just doesn't want to examine it too closely yet."
"And you're okay with that? Taking it slow?"
Rafayel thought about it. Thought about three hundred years of waiting. Thought about a girl who'd died before she could keep her promise. Thought about a second chance he'd never thought he'd get.
"I have time," he said finally. "We have time. No curses, no deadlines, no impossible choices. Just... time. To get to know each other. To fall in love—again, for me, first time for her. To build something real."
"She might never remember," Thomas said gently. "Her past life. Your history. Any of it."
"I know." Rafayel watched the stars through the car window. "And that's okay. I loved her when she was Princess Angelina who saved a merman on a beach. I loved her when she was Nana who died too young. I love her now as the Hunter who can't swim but plays in the ocean anyway."
"I'll love her in every lifetime, Thomas. Whether she remembers or not."
"That's..." Thomas paused, searching for words. "That's either the most romantic thing I've ever heard or the saddest."
"It's both," Rafayel said simply. "Love usually is."
They arrived at White Sand Bay. Rafayel thanked Thomas and headed inside, his clothes still slightly damp, his phone full of candid photos Thomas had taken of them playing in the water.
In his room, he looked at her painting—the pink fish, cheerful and bright—and smiled.
*Next week*, he thought. *A not-date at a couples cafe. Another step forward. Another memory made.*
"We're building something, Nana. Slowly, carefully, one moment at a time."
"And I'm not in any hurry."
"Because you're worth waiting for."
"You've always been worth waiting for."
"And this time, I'm not waiting alone."
"This time, we're walking toward each other."
"And that makes all the difference."
He fell asleep smiling, the sea glass she'd found for him on his nightstand, catching moonlight like captured stars.
Outside, the ocean whispered against the shore, steady and eternal.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
But hopeful now.
Finally, *finally* hopeful.
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🐚🐚🐚
To be continued __