Footprints Across the Water

The waves whispered that night, pulling secrets from the moon and scattering them across the shore. I stood barefoot at the edge of the ocean, toes sinking into the cool sand, staring at the trail of shimmering footprints leading out onto the water.

They didn’t belong there.

The tide was low, the wind still, and yet there they were—light impressions, glowing faintly in the moonlight, as if someone had walked straight from the beach into the open sea without fear of drowning.

I should have turned away. Should have told myself it was a trick of the light, a reflection, anything logical. But logic had never been my compass, and curiosity had a way of wrapping its hands around my heart until I couldn’t breathe

So I stepped forward.

The first footfall didn’t sink. The water held me as if it had been waiting. Each step sent ripples spiraling out in perfect circles, chasing each other into the horizon. Behind me, the shore grew smaller. Ahead, the footprints continued, unwavering, as though they belonged to someone who knew exactly where they were going.

I followed.

It felt impossible—walking on water—but with every step I took, the world around me softened. The sound of waves faded. The air turned heavy with the scent of rain that never fell. My heartbeat matched the rhythm of the ocean’s unseen pulse.

Somewhere far ahead, a figure appeared.

She was small at first, no more than a silhouette against the horizon, but as I drew closer, I could see her hair, long and dark, moving like seaweed in invisible currents. Her dress shimmered silver, made from the same light that danced on the water’s surface.

She didn’t turn until I was only a few paces away.

“You’re late,” she said, her voice like wind through a conch shell.

“I didn’t know I was coming,” I replied.

A small smile touched her lips, but her eyes were ancient, the kind that had seen too much and forgotten nothing.

“You’ve been searching for something,” she said, stepping backward as if to lead me further. “And you think you’ll find it here.”

I hesitated. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

“That’s what everyone says before they find it.”

Her footprints kept glowing ahead of me, and I followed without thinking. The water beneath my feet began to change color—deep sapphire, then emerald, then a swirling mix of colors I’d never seen before, as though the ocean itself was breathing.

“You’ve been chasing dreams,” she continued, “the kind you’re afraid to tell anyone about. You keep them small, locked inside your chest, because you’ve been told they’re impossible.”

The words struck deeper than I wanted to admit. I’d lived my whole life like that—half-reaching for the things I wanted but never daring to leap.

“What happens if I keep following you?” I asked.

“You’ll see where the footprints end.”

“And if I stop?”

“You’ll spend the rest of your life wondering.”

We walked in silence for what felt like hours. The horizon never seemed to draw closer, yet I could feel something shifting—inside me, around me. The air tasted different, sharper, cleaner. My fear, the one that had been my shadow for years, began to thin like morning fog.

Finally, the footprints stopped.

We stood in the middle of an endless ocean, the water so still it looked like glass. Above us, the stars seemed near enough to touch, their light dripping into the sea like molten silver.

“This is where I leave you,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because the next step isn’t mine to take. It’s yours.”

I looked down. There was nothing ahead—no glowing trail, no path. Just water and the sky reflected in it. My chest tightened.

“What if I fall?”

She smiled again, and this time there was something almost human in it. “Then you’ll learn how to swim.”

She stepped back, fading until she was nothing but mist. I stood alone, the quiet pressing in.

I thought of the years I’d spent on the shore, watching the waves but never touching them. I thought of all the dreams I’d shelved because they were too big, too wild, too much for the life I’d been told to live.

And then I stepped forward.

The water didn’t catch me this time. I plunged beneath the surface, the cold shocking the breath from my lungs—yet as I sank, the light around me bloomed, wrapping me in warmth. The ocean didn’t feel like it was swallowing me. It felt like it was carrying me.

When I broke the surface again, I wasn’t near the shore, and I wasn’t where the footprints had ended. I was somewhere new—somewhere I’d never seen but had always been moving toward without knowing it.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid.