The storm wasn’t supposed to arrive until morning.
That’s what the weather reports said.
That’s what the fishermen said.
That’s what Nora told herself as she stood at her little coastal radio station, closing up for the night.
But storms along the Meridian Coast had a mind of their own. They came early, came sideways, came roaring up from the deep like creatures made of wind and grief.
And this one — this one felt strange even before it arrived.
Nora had felt it all day.
A hum in the air.
A pressure behind her ribs.
Like someone whispering her name from very far away.
She tried to ignore it. She tried to focus on her shift, on the comfort of familiar sounds — the soft crackling of the radio boards, the ocean sighing below the cliffs, the quiet tick of the old lighthouse clock behind her.
But the hum stayed with her, pulsing beneath the surface of everything.
So when the first gust of the storm slammed against the station windows, she didn’t jump the way she normally would.
Instead, something inside her whispered:
It’s here.
The radio blared with static.
Nora frowned, twisting the dials out of habit. The storm shouldn’t have been close enough yet to interfere with their frequency.
Outside, lightning flickered behind the clouds — silent for now, but bright enough to paint everything in ghost-gray light.
Nora’s heart thrummed hard in her chest.
She turned to grab her coat, ready to lock up, when —
The radio squealed.
A sound like tearing fabric.
Then a crack.
Then—
A voice.
Faint.
Wavering.
Drowned in static.
Nora froze.
“…Nora…? Nora, please…”
Her breath caught.
It couldn’t be.
It couldn’t be.
But the voice continued — cracked, fragile, familiar in a way that hit her like a fist to the sternum.
“Nora… if you hear this… I’m sorry…”
Nora’s hands trembled uncontrollably.
“Lila?” she whispered.
The storm outside roared louder.
There was another burst of static — then a new sound emerged, soft and smooth as paper sliding across a desk.
Writing.
Nora stared at the machine.
“Impossible,” she breathed.
But the printer attached to the emergency radio line — a device she’d used maybe twice in her entire career — whirred to life.
She stumbled toward it.
Words spilled onto the page in thick black ink.
Her eyes widened as she read the handwriting.
Her own.
The message was short.
DON’T BE AFRAID.
COME TO THE STORM.
I’LL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING.
Nora’s pulse thundered in her ears.
This made no sense.
Lila had been gone for a year.
Lost at sea during a freak winter storm.
No body recovered.
Just her empty boat drifting in gentle circles off the coast, as though waiting to be found.
Nora had spent months replaying their last conversation.
The fight.
The tears.
The door slamming.
The storm taking Lila before Nora could say she was sorry.
And now this?
Nora pressed her hand to her mouth, shaking.
A second page spat from the printer.
This one held only two words:
HURRY, NOR.
No one called her that except Lila.
No one.
She grabbed her coat.
And she ran.
The storm hit like a living thing.
Wind tore at her clothes, screaming through the cliffside grass. Rain lashed sideways — cold, ferocious, wild. The ocean below churned in violent spirals, as though boiling from within.
The lighthouse beam swung in slow circles, slicing through the chaos with unwavering calm.
Nora stumbled toward the edge of the cliffs.
She didn’t know why she was doing this.
Didn’t know what she expected to find.
Didn’t know if she was chasing a ghost or losing her mind.
All she knew was the truth humming beneath her skin:
Lila was calling.
She felt it.
Like a string connecting them across impossible distances.
She reached the overlook — the very place she and Lila used to sit on warm summer nights, legs dangling over the rocks, sharing thermos tea and whispered secrets.
Lightning split the sky.
Nora gasped.
Below, at the base of the cliff, the ocean was… glowing.
A spiraling column of light rose from the water — twisting, pulsing, swirling with strands of silver and blue. The storm curved around it, repelled like iron filings pushed aside by a magnet.
The glow pulsed again.
Calling her.
Nora staggered back—
“What is happening?”
The wind didn’t answer.
But the glow grew brighter.
And as she stared, shapes formed within it.
Fingers.
Hands.
A silhouette.
Her heart lurched.
“Lila?!”
A voice — soft as breath — brushed her ear.
“But you’re not imagining me, Nor.”
Nora spun.
And there she was.
Not in flesh.
Not fully solid.
Not entirely real.
But there.
Lila stood behind her, made of wind and light and memory — a shimmering figure formed from the storm’s glow. Her hair drifted around her like sea foam, her eyes bright with something achingly familiar.
Nora’s knees buckled.
“Lila,” she choked. “No. No, this isn’t—”
“It’s me,” Lila whispered, reaching out a hand that flickered like candlelight. “I didn’t leave you. Not really.”
Tears blurred Nora’s vision.
“But you died,” she sobbed. “You’re gone.”
Lila smiled — small, sad, warm.
“I didn’t die,” she said. “I changed.”
Lightning spiraled behind her, gentle and soft, like a heartbeat.
“The storm found me,” Lila whispered. “And I became part of it.”
Nora stumbled backward.
“No. That doesn’t happen. That’s not—”
“Real?” Lila tilted her head. “Maybe not. But it’s true.”
The storm roared around them, but the space where they stood was calm — a circle of stillness carved from chaos.
Lila stepped closer.
“I wanted to say goodbye,” she said. “But you weren’t ready. And I wasn’t either.”
Nora’s voice cracked.
“We fought. The last thing you heard from me was… was anger.”
“I never held that against you,” Lila murmured. “Not even for a second.”
Nora’s tears fell freely.
“I wasn’t there to save you.”
“You were the last thought I had before the waves took my boat,” Lila said softly. “And the first thought when I opened my eyes… here.”
She lifted her hand.
Nora hesitated.
Then reached out—
Their fingers met.
Warmth flooded her.
Not heat.
Not electricity.
But something gentler.
Forgiveness.
The kind that settles in quietly.
The kind that fills all the cracks.
The kind that doesn’t erase the pain but makes space for healing.
Lila’s voice softened.
“I can’t stay. I belong to the storm now. But I didn’t want you to spend your life wondering if I was afraid. Or alone. Or angry.”
Nora’s voice broke.
“I miss you so much.”
“I know,” Lila whispered. “But you’re still living. And you have so much left. More than grief. More than regret.”
Nora clutched her hand tight.
“Don’t leave again. Please. Not yet. Not again.”
Lila leaned in, foreheads nearly touching.
“I’m not leaving,” she said. “Not really. Every storm carries a piece of me. Every gust, every wave, every echo of the sea.”
Her form began to fade.
“Lila—”
“Listen for me,” she whispered.
Lightning spiraled upward, wrapping gently around her like a cloak.
“Goodbye, Nor.”
Nora reached, desperate—
And the figure dissolved into light.
Then the light sank into the storm.
Then the storm calmed.
Then the sea softened.
And Nora was alone on the cliffside.
Except—
When she looked down, glowing softly in the wet grass, she saw the printed paper she’d brought with her.
Her own handwriting.
DON’T BE AFRAID.
YOU’RE NOT ALONE.
Nora pressed the page to her heart.
For the first time in a year, the ache inside her eased — not gone, but gentler.
Like a storm that had finally passed.