Beyond the Glass

Northeast India felt different from Thailand.

The air was cooler, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth and distant mountains. Green hills stretched beneath the cloudy sky, their peaks disappearing into thin veils of mist. It was the land her mother had once called home—a place Rimiyoko had known only through old photographs and fragments of stories no one ever finished telling.

Yet, as she watched the landscape pass through the tinted window of her father's car, she felt nothing in particular.

No excitement. No nostalgia.

To her, it was simply another place her father's business had brought them to.

At eighteen, Rimiyoko Moretti had already learned that changing countries did not necessarily mean changing lives. The houses became different, the streets unfamiliar, and the faces around her changed, but the rules remained the same.

Never ask too many questions.

Never trust too easily.

And never mistake silence for safety.

Her father had arranged security around their new estate before they had even arrived. Armed men stood at the gates, unfamiliar faces watched from the corridors, and every movement outside the property seemed to be carefully monitored.

Rimiyoko found it exhausting.

She didn't need protection from the world.

She simply wanted a little space from it.

That afternoon, she left the estate without informing anyone where she was going. She ignored the calls that followed and wandered through the city until she found a place that promised exactly what she needed.

Quiet.

The aquarium.

The moment she stepped through its glass entrance, the noise of the city faded behind her. The atmosphere was cool and dim, illuminated by the deep blue glow of enormous tanks. Water shimmered across the walls, and tiny bubbles rose toward the surface like secrets escaping into the light.

Jellyfish drifted through the darkness, their translucent bodies glowing softly. Schools of fish moved together through artificial coral, while the gentle hum of the filtration systems filled the silence.

For the first time that day, Rimiyoko felt no desire to leave.

She walked slowly through the galleries, her hands resting loosely at her sides. Her long, dark hair fell over her shoulders, and her expression remained as unreadable as ever.

People came here to admire the beauty of the ocean.

Rimiyoko came because nothing beneath the water demanded an explanation.

No one asked about her family.

No one cared about her father's name.

And no one expected her to pretend she was happy.

For a little while, she could simply exist.

She stopped before the largest tank in the gallery.

A broad shadow glided through the deep blue water, its graceful movements almost effortless. Rimiyoko watched it disappear behind a formation of artificial rocks before returning to view.

"Beautiful, isn't he?"

The voice came from beside her.

Rimiyoko didn't startle, though her gaze shifted slowly toward the speaker.

A young man stood a few feet away, wearing a dark blue polo shirt with the aquarium's logo stitched over the chest. An identification card hung from his neck, and he held a clipboard beneath one arm.

His hair was slightly untidy, as though he had run his fingers through it too many times. There was something open about his expression, something almost boyishly sincere.

He looked like someone who could find happiness in the smallest things.

"Leopard ray," he added, nodding toward the tank. "They have a way of making everything else seem a little less complicated, don't you think?"

Rimiyoko looked back at the water.

"Do they?"

He blinked.

It wasn't the answer he'd expected.

"Well, I think so."

"Then you must have a very simple life."

For a moment, he stared at her.

Then he laughed.

Not the awkward laugh of someone trying to hide embarrassment, but a genuine one that seemed to surprise even him.

"That's probably the nicest insult I've received all week."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"I figured that out halfway through."

Rimiyoko turned her attention back to the tank, apparently satisfied that the conversation had reached its natural conclusion.

Most people would have taken the hint.

He didn't.

"I'm Luca, by the way. I work here."

She glanced at the hand he offered.

Then at his face.

After a brief pause, she shook it.

"Rimiyoko."

"Nice to meet you, Rimiyoko."

She released his hand.

"Is it?"

Luca's smile faltered for half a second.

Then it returned.

"You know, most people at least pretend to be polite."

"Most people waste a lot of time pretending."

He studied her for a moment.

There was no obvious hostility in her voice, no sharpness meant to provoke him. She spoke as calmly as if she were commenting on the weather.

That, somehow, made her more difficult to understand.

And more interesting.

Luca had met plenty of visitors who came to the aquarium looking for excitement. Children who pressed their hands against the glass, couples who took photographs beneath the glowing tanks, and tourists who asked questions without waiting for the answers.

But this girl was different.

She watched the water as though she had come a long way to find something she couldn't name.

He wondered what it was.

"Well," he said, adjusting the clipboard beneath his arm, "if you're interested, they brought in a new group of moon jellyfish this morning."

Rimiyoko said nothing.

"They're in the next gallery. The lighting makes them look like little moons floating in the dark."

"Do you describe everything like that?"

"Only the things I like."

"That sounds exhausting."

"Being interested in things? Not really."

For the first time, Rimiyoko looked at him properly.

His smile was easy, his eyes bright with a kind of enthusiasm she couldn't remember seeing in anyone around her father's circle. He didn't appear concerned about who she was, where she came from, or why she seemed determined to keep everyone at a distance.

He was simply talking to her.

As though she were an ordinary girl standing in front of an aquarium tank.

The thought was strangely unfamiliar.

Luca, meanwhile, found himself forgetting what he had intended to say next.

There was something striking about her—not merely her appearance, but the stillness with which she carried herself. Her dark eyes revealed almost nothing, yet he had the curious feeling that she noticed far more than she let on.

He quickly looked away before she caught him staring.

"Anyway," he said, clearing his throat, "I can show you if you'd like."

Rimiyoko considered the offer.

She could refuse. It would be easy.

She had spent most of her life refusing things before they had the chance to become important.

But the aquarium was quiet, the water was beautiful, and this strange boy seemed incapable of taking offence at anything she said.

For once, she decided not to leave.

"All right," she replied. "Show me."

Luca's face brightened.

"Great. Come this way."

He started toward the next gallery, slowing his pace when he realised she hadn't followed immediately.

Rimiyoko watched him for a second before walking after him.

Neither of them knew that this small, ordinary conversation would eventually become a memory neither could afford to forget.

For Luca, it was the beginning of something he would never quite find the courage to name.

For Rimiyoko, it was simply the day she met a boy who didn't seem to mind her silence.

And for now, that was enough.