Beneath the Board

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Colin Ashford wasn’t the adventurous type. His life revolved around real estate spreadsheets and tepid coffee. But turning forty had hit harder than expected, and booking a surf retreat in Byron Bay felt like something a man on the verge of rediscovery should do. Just one week, he told himself. Enough to say he tried.

By day three, Colin had begun to enjoy the slow rhythm of salt and sun. The locals were kind, the boards well-waxed, and the ocean surprisingly forgiving. The sky was cloudless that morning, the sea stretched like velvet, and the others were farther downshore. Perfect, he thought. No one to see him fall off the board again.

He paddled out slowly, his arms no match for the tide but determined. The water was warm, a rare comfort. Colin glanced beneath his board as he drifted, waiting for a manageable wave. The water wasn’t crystal clear, but light still danced down through layers of deepening blue.

When Stillness Turns to Motion

Then he saw it.

At first, it looked like a ripple. A trick of the light. But it moved against the current. Long. Slow. Intentional.

His limbs stiffened. Was it seaweed? A shadow? He held still, barely breathing. Then the shape rose just enough for sunlight to catch the gray curve of its back—unmistakable. A shark. Not thrashing. Not curious. Just there. Directly beneath him.

Colin froze, his palms flat on the board. Every instinct told him not to splash, not to scream. He had read once that sharks detect fear. Was that true? Could it smell panic the way dogs sensed storms?

The board rocked gently. The water lapped, steady and cold now. The shark began to circle—just once, wide, then veered slightly to the left. Colin remained motionless, counting heartbeats. One hundred. Two hundred.

And then… nothing.

No ripple. No return. Just open water, calm as ever. Ten minutes passed before he dared paddle back, spine locked tight with fear. Once ashore, he didn’t tell anyone. Not the instructor. Not the couple next to him waxing their boards. Not even his journal that night.

But the next morning, as he stood at the shoreline watching the waves break, he noticed something small and sharp in the sand—an inch-long triangle of dark gray, smooth on one side, serrated on the other.

Colin booked an early flight home that afternoon.

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