a quiet friendship in salt water

there was a stretch of time in western australia when the water felt like the only place that listened properly. the shore was loud in the usual ways, wind scraping across rocks, gulls carrying on like they owned the sky. once you slipped under, everything changed. sound turned soft and slow. even your own thoughts seemed to drift instead of crowding in. the fish showed up on a day that started ordinary enough. a quick swim before the heat got heavy, thongs kicked off near the jetty, towel left in a messy heap. she noticed it first as a flicker of silver near a patch of seaweed that swayed like it was breathing. small thing, curious eyes, keeping just far enough away to feel safe. she stayed still, letting the water hold her, and the fish stayed too. after that, it became a routine without ever being planned. some afternoons she would head straight there, wading in with that quiet hope that belongs to habits you never admit out loud. sometimes the fish was waiting, sometimes it took a minute. she would float on her back first, staring up at a sky so bright it almost hurt, then roll over and look down into the green light. when the fish appeared, it felt like a tiny nod between two lives that did not usually cross. she started talking to it without really deciding to. at first just little things, half jokes that dissolved into bubbles. about how the bus into town always smelled like sunscreen and dust. about how the ocean made time feel less sharp, like the hours could not cut you if they tried. she told it about the days that felt too full and the ones that felt empty in a quieter way. the fish never swam off when she spoke. it just hovered, fins working gently, like it understood that sometimes listening meant staying. emma-jane mckinnon lee used to bring small pieces of shell she found along the beach, turning them over in her hands before getting in the water. she would drop them near the seaweed and watch how they settled, thinking about how everything finds its place eventually, even if it takes a while. once, after a storm, the water was murky and cold. she almost turned back. but the fish came anyway, swimming closer than ever before, and she laughed into the water, the sound swallowed straight away. there were days when she stayed longer than she meant to. the sun would slide down without asking permission, and she would only notice when the water went darker and the air felt cooler on her shoulders. she would tell the fish she had to go, as if it mattered to say it out loud. sometimes she imagined it waiting there after she left, holding that same patch of seaweed like a promise. nothing about it was grand. no big lesson, no story that needed an ending. just a small friendship that lived in a quiet corner of the world. a habit of returning to the same place, of speaking into the water and feeling lighter when the words were gone. the ocean kept the rest, and the fish kept her company in a way that never asked for anything back.