She only saw him on Thursdays. That seemed to be his favorite day. And at night. Always at night.
She would sit on the mossy rock jutting out of the beach like a giant fist, waiting for him to appear. He always did, shining bright in the moon and appearing transparent against the black sea.
She would sing to him, even. Sometimes he would turn around. He might look at her. He would smile, and then once he did, he would vanish into thin air.
Then she would sit another minute or two, sometimes an hour if she was extra sad, and then go home. And then the next morning, there would be his footprints in the sand, washed away before anyone else came to the beach.
One night, she didn’t go to see him. She had met a boy. She had stayed at her house with the boy that night, forgetting all about the figure that appeared as suddenly as the tide.
The next morning, she remembered. She rushed down to the beach before anyone else to see if his footprints were there. They weren’t. He stopped coming.