The Wreck's Whispers - Chapter 1

The air in Phuket hung thick and wet, a soupy mixture of salt, diesel, and frangipani. It was a smell of escape, of sweat-slicked skin and possibilities that shimmered like heat haze on the Andaman Sea. For Maya, it was the scent of freedom. She leaned against the polished railing of the White Lotus Diving day boat, the wind whipping loose strands of her dark hair across her face as the powerful twin engines cut cleanly through the waves. The spacious dive deck was organized with a calm efficiency, tanks secured in their racks, gear neatly stowed. It was a world away from the crowded, chaotic tourist vessels.

“You’re going to vibrate right off the boat,” Sam said, her voice a calm anchor in Maya’s sea of restless energy. Sam was sitting on a cushioned bench, methodically applying sunscreen. Where Maya was all sharp angles and kinetic energy, Sam was composed, her movements deliberate, her gaze observant. She saw everything, and Maya loved her for it. Loved that steady presence that allowed her own wildness to flourish.

“I can’t help it,” Maya grinned, turning from the sea to her partner. “It’s been too long. The city, the noise… I need the quiet of the deep.”

Their instructor, Raimo, moved between the divers, his presence both commanding and reassuring. He was a man who seemed to have been carved from the very elements he navigated. His skin was the color of weathered teak, a roadmap of laugh lines and sun-squints etched around eyes the startling pale blue of a glacial crevasse. He was Finnish, a fact he’d stated with a quiet, almost apologetic smile when they'd first met. He had a stillness about him, an unflinching confidence that Maya found deeply reassuring.

He paused by Maya and Sam, his eyes taking in the easy way Sam rested her hand on Maya’s knee. There was no flicker of surprise, no hesitation—only a simple, accepting nod. "The sea, she has her own language," he said, his low baritone carrying easily over the thrum of the engines, including them both in the conversation. "You just have to learn to listen. Today, we'll start with a refresher. We'll get reacquainted with her language." That brief, normal interaction was all it took. The subtle tension Maya hadn't even realized she was carrying dissipated. Here, they were just another couple on vacation.

The first dive was a reawakening. After the professional briefing and the smooth kitting-up process on the spacious deck, Maya followed Raimo’s lead, stepping off the dive platform into the warm embrace of the Andaman Sea. For a moment, it was a chaos of bubbles and sound, a disorienting swirl of blue and green. Then, silence. Or rather, the full, rich silence of the deep that Maya had been craving.

She and Sam exchanged a wide-eyed look, their regulators muffling their delighted laughter. They began their descent, following the anchor line down into a world of impossible color. The water was a brilliant turquoise, the sunlight filtering down in dancing, ethereal beams. A school of yellow-tailed fusiliers, thousands of them, moved as one, a shimmering, living river of silver and gold.

Raimo was a master in this underwater realm. He moved with a slow, powerful grace, his fins barely seeming to move. He pointed out a hawksbill turtle, ancient and serene, munching on a sponge. He showed them a clownfish, a tiny, defiant splash of orange and white, peeking out from the protective tentacles of an anemone. He was not just showing them the sights; he was introducing them to the inhabitants of this silent world, his hand gestures a clear and concise language that transcended words.

Maya felt the city’s grime and noise wash away. Down here, there were no deadlines, no expectations. There was only the gentle rhythm of her own breathing and the hypnotic sway of the sea fans. She watched Sam, who had been a little apprehensive at first, now moving with a newfound confidence, her eyes wide with wonder. Sam caught her gaze and gave her a slow, deliberate "okay" sign, a gesture that spoke of a shared joy, a connection that was deeper than words.

They spent what felt like both a lifetime and a heartbeat exploring the reef. They saw a blue-spotted stingray, its wings undulating as it glided over the sandy bottom. They marveled at the intricate patterns of a giant moray eel, its head peeking out from a rocky crevice, its mouth opening and closing in a silent, rhythmic greeting. It was a world of breathtaking beauty, a world that demanded presence.

When they finally surfaced, the world felt too bright, too loud. They climbed the ladder back onto the dive deck, tired but soaring. As they ate the fresh pineapple and sticky rice provided by the crew, the conversation was a happy babble of "did you see that?" and "it was so beautiful."

As the boat motored towards their second dive site, Raimo’s expression became more serious. “The Wreck’s Whispers is a different kind of dive,” he said, his pale blue eyes sweeping over the group. “Deeper. Colder. The currents can be strong, and the visibility can change in an instant. We’ll be going down to thirty meters. Stay close to your buddy. Stay close to me. And remember… look, but don’t touch. The wreck is a grave. We are just visitors.”

A shiver, a mixture of fear and exhilaration, went down Maya’s spine. A grave. The word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

The descent to the wreck was a journey into another world. The bright, sun-drenched colors of the reef gave way to a deeper, more mysterious blue. The silence was more profound, the weight of the water more palpable. Maya held Sam’s hand, her heart pounding a steady, rhythmic drum against her ribs.

And then, it emerged from the gloom. A dark, hulking shape, a ghost ship resting on the ocean floor. It was bigger than Maya had imagined, a fallen giant covered in a shroud of coral and algae. A gaping hole in the hull looked like a silent scream. A broken mast pointed accusingly towards the surface. It was a place of both beauty and decay, a monument to a forgotten tragedy.

Raimo led them along the side of the wreck, his powerful fins propelling him through the water with an effortless grace. He pointed out a school of batfish that had made their home in the ship’s galley, their silver bodies flashing in the dim light. Maya was mesmerized. She felt a sense of awe, of reverence for this place. It was a world of secrets, of stories waiting to be told.

And then, she saw it. A glint of metal, half-buried in the sand near the ship’s bow. It was a small, rectangular object, no bigger than her hand. It looked like a box, or a plaque.

Curiosity, sharp and insistent, tugged at her. She knew the rules. Look, don’t touch. But the object seemed to call to her, a silent whisper from the deep. She glanced at Sam, who was engrossed in watching a moray eel peek out from a porthole. She looked at Raimo, who was a little further ahead, his back to her.

It was a risk. A stupid risk. But Maya had never been one to resist the siren song of a mystery. With a quick, decisive movement, she let go of Sam’s hand and swam towards the glinting object, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. The whispers of the wreck were calling her name, and she was powerless to resist.

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What is that object? Will Maya pay dearly for her foolish behaviour?  Follow us on Instagram to get notified about the next episode (coming soon) to find out!