Waves of Becoming

She felt like she was deep under the sea. Floating. The water didn’t quite touch her skin, but it held her in a protective bubble. Little rays of sunlight pierced through the depths, dancing over her body like an invitation, whispering secrets she could almost—but not quite—understand. It was a familiar sensation, something she’d felt her whole life.

It wasn’t just daydreaming; it was something else. A pull. A calling. The ocean always felt like home—safe, vast, and waiting—but never for long. She was allowed to visit, to drift, but the world above always dragged her back.

Just like now.

The sounds and voices battering her bubble were relentless, breaking through the quiet she craved and tugging her toward reality. It was like a constant war between the surface

and the deep, and she was stuck somewhere in between.

“Eve!”

Her name pierced through the water, sharp and impatient, yanking her upward. She broke the surface of her imaginary ocean with a start, sucked back into the harsh, fluorescent glow of the dining room.

She blinked once, then twice, pretending she hadn’t heard her name. Maybe if she stayed perfectly still, they’d think she was invisible—not that it ever worked. Not with them.

This was their traditional family dinner, an event that occurred every three months like clockwork. A choreographed routine dressed up as togetherness, where everyone pretended to care about one another just long enough to brag, gossip, and subtly tear each other down. First, it was money: promotions, bonuses, expensive vacations. Then

came relationships, which were somehow worse, considering half the room was cheating on each other. And finally, the grand finale—politics. By then, the knives weren’t just metaphorical.

Eve was just trying to ride out the storm, same as always. She hunched over her plate, staring at her green beans and praying someone would change the subject. But no such luck.

“Earth to Eve!” Uncle Gary’s voice cut through the room again. “You gonna sit there all night, or you got something to share with the family? I mean, you’re a writer, right? Aren’t you supposed to have stories?”

Eve took a sip of her strictly non-alcoholic drink—she’d learned the hard way that no matter how much she just wanted to get wasted, it always seemed to make things worse— then offered him her fakest smile.

“Oh, absolutely. How about the time I considered crawling out the bathroom window instead of listening to pointless lectures about all the life choices I’ve ever made? Real nail-biter.”

The table went silent for a beat. Then her cousin Todd, who worked in finance and talked like a human LinkedIn post, snorted into his wine glass.

“Eve,” Aunt Margie said, all tight-lipped and patronizing, “no need to be rude. We’re just curious how you’re… you know, getting along. You’re 26 now, aren’t you?”

“27 in January,” Eve muttered, stabbing her beans.

“Exactly. Almost 30,” Gary chimed in, as though this were breaking news. “No boyfriend, no fiancé, no—”

“No dog, no white picket fence, no vacation home in Cabo. I know, Gary,” Eve interrupted, her voice like a blade. “But hey, I do have a booming freelance career, a stack of rejection letters that could wallpaper the Louvre, and a crippling caffeine addiction. So, you know, I’m thriving.”

Gary rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, his beer belly stretching the limits of his shirt. “You always think you’re so smart and witty. Like you’re better than us, something special. But what have you achieved with your attitude so far?”

Eve opened her mouth, ready to snap back, but her words caught in her throat. She wanted to say something, but the weight of his question settled uncomfortably in her chest.

Gary smirked like a cat who caught the canary. “Exactly,” he said triumphantly. “So get off your high horse, pretending you’re destined for something greater, and do something with your life.”

The table buzzed with awkward laughter, but Eve barely heard it. She just kept stabbing her green beans, each stab sharper than the last, praying to all the deities she knew that he’d shut up. But he kept going.

“At your age I already had a house, two kids, and a sweet promotion on the way. So if—”

“Yes, Gary, and now you have three maxed-out credit cards, a bad back, and a side chick who thinks we don’t know about her,” she snapped, and regretted it instantly. She just wanted him to swallow his tongue, but at the same time, causing more drama certainly

wouldn’t help her get through this dinner faster. Now she was just going to be the jerk. Again.

The room erupted. Margie gasped like Eve had just confessed to murder, while Todd choked on his wine. Gary’s face turned the color of undercooked steak.

“You little—”

Before Gary could finish, the first rumble of thunder shook the house. The chandelier above the table flickered ominously. The storm had been on the horizon all day, but now it was making its presence known. Wind howled through the cracks in the windows, and lightning illuminated the manicured lawn outside.

“What in the world—” Eve’s dad muttered, standing to peer out the window.

Then came the knock.

It wasn’t a polite knock, like a neighbor asking for sugar. It was firm, commanding, and just a little unsettling. The kind of knock you hear in horror movies, right before the protagonist does something stupid like opening the door.

Everyone froze. Even Gary, mid-rant, shut his mouth.

“You expecting someone?” Margie asked, clutching her pearls like they were about to be ripped off her neck.

“No,” Eve’s dad said, glancing at the storm outside. “Nobody would be out in this weather.”

The knock came again.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Gary said. “Go open it.”

Eve’s dad shot him a glare but moved toward the door. The room fell eerily silent, save for the sound of the rain pounding against the house.

Eve felt it before she saw it. That familiar pull—the same one that had drawn her toward water her entire life. It started at the base of her spine, spreading upward like a warm tide, and then a tingling hum at the edges of her mind. Her fingertips buzzed, her chest tightened, and for a brief, dizzying moment, she was sure she was underwater again. It wasn’t a memory. It was happening now, right here.

Her heart began to race as the door creaked open.

And there she was.

The woman on the porch looked like she had stepped out of one of Eve’s daydreams—or perhaps the deepest part of the ocean. Her skin shimmered with a soft, light blue hue, as though it had been kissed by moonlight. Tiny white freckles glittered across her sharp cheekbones, and her hair flowed in a silver cascade that seemed to defy gravity. Her eyes —glowing, swirling pools of turquoise—scanned the room. Not searching—knowing.

The air in the room thickened, heavy with the same energy Eve had felt so many times before—when she floated in her imaginary oceans, when she stared too long at the horizon, when the sound of water made her feel whole and untouchable. It was all her. It

was always her.

Eve’s father stood frozen, his mouth half-open, unsure whether to speak or slam the door shut. The rest of the family just stared.

And then, the woman’s gaze landed on Eve.

“Eve,” she said, her voice impossibly calm, smooth as a wave lapping at the shore. There was no hesitation, no doubt, as if she had always known exactly who she was looking for.

Eve’s throat went dry. That pull in her chest turned into a quiet ache, the kind you feel when you’ve been waiting for something your whole life and finally, finally, it’s arrived. She stood without realizing she had, her chair scraping loudly against the floor.

The woman took a single step inside, water pooling at her feet. She didn’t even seem to notice the rest of the family gawking like fish out of water. Her focus was solely on Eve.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said, her eyes softening.

Eve felt the words ripple through her like an echo of a truth she’d always known. “You have?” she whispered dumbly.

The woman’s lips curled into the smallest of smiles, bittersweet and knowing. “Always.”

The rest of the family erupted into noise all at once, questions flying through the air: Who is she? How does she know Eve? Why is she blue? But Eve barely heard them.

For the first time in years, maybe her entire life, she felt like she wasn’t floating between worlds. She felt anchored.

“What do you mean, ‘looking for me’?” Eve managed to say, her voice shaky.

The woman extended a hand, her fingertips glowing faintly as though lit from within. “You already know.”

And in that moment she really did.

Eve stared at the woman’s outstretched hand. She wanted to reach out, to take it, to let this impossible, magical moment carry her away. But she hesitated. Not because she didn't want to. No. She didn't dare to move. She was afraid if she did, everything would shatter into tiny little pieces. Like breaking a mirror.

The woman stepped closer, her expression soft, her turquoise eyes holding a silent invitation. "Trust me." she said, her voice so clear it seemed to bypass Eve’s ears and echo straight in her chest.

Eve’s hand rose as if on its own, drawn toward the woman’s touch. Just as their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of energy through Eve’s entire body, the woman began to fade. Her shimmering form rippled like water disturbed by a pebble, her glowing eyes dimming.

“No,” Eve whispered, reaching out farther. “Wait—”

But it was too late. The woman dissolved completely, the air growing lighter, thinner, until it was just the dining room again.

Eve blinked, disoriented. The pull, the warmth, the magic—it was all gone, like a wave receding back into the ocean.

But something stayed with her. Something that felt like clarity.

Gary’s voice was the first thing she registered, sharp and furious, cutting through the haze like a jagged knife.

“What the hell did you just say to me?” he barked, his chair tumbling to the floor as he shot to his feet. His face was red, his fists clenched.

“You heard me, Gary,” Eve said calmly, her voice even. “I said you’re cheating on Aunt Carol. And before you deny it, maybe ask yourself why the barista at that coffee shop downtown calls you ‘honey’ and knows your usual order when you don't even drink coffee.”

The room fell silent. All eyes were on Gary, who opened his mouth, then closed it again, his face now somewhere between rage and panic.

Eve didn’t flinch. “So stop being a hypocritical asshole and leave me the fuck alone."

Gary’s mouth worked silently for a moment, and then he stormed out of the dining room, muttering something under his breath about “ungrateful brats.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Aunt Margie cleared her throat awkwardly. Everyone stared at their plates like they might offer them guidance, someone saying "thank God, Carol is not here."

For the first time, Eve didn’t care. She felt strangely weightless, like she was still floating in the dreamlike haze of the moment before. Maybe it hadn’t been real. Maybe it had just been her imagination, her way of escaping the misery of these dinners. But even if it wasn’t real, it had given her something she didn’t have before: the strength to face these people without drowning in their noise.

The storm outside raged on, lightning flickering through the windows, but Eve felt steady, whole. She reached for her glass, raised it slightly as if to toast herself, and took a long, deliberate sip.

“What was that about?” Aunt Margie finally asked, her voice nervous.

“Just giving him the story he wanted.” Eve replied with a shrug.

She then stood without saying another word, stepped outside and was hit right in the face by the pouring rain. She welcomed the sensation, tilted her head upwards with her eyes closed. She felt nothing but calm. She was done floating, it was time to swim.