A STORY JUST FOR ME

The river didn't tell me where you went.

It didn't leave a trail of light or a sign scratched into the trees.

It just swallowed you whole—

and kept flowing.

I hovered above the shattered bridge for hours after your fall.

Mireya's voice was shouting orders in the background.

Quincy stood like a statue, his eyes locked on the waters below.

But they were too grounded.

Too human.

Too afraid of what they couldn't fix.

"Wanderer," I whispered, floating just inches above the rushing current,

"I know you're not gone. You can't be. You promised we'd see the next story together."

The river didn't answer.

So I followed it.

I traveled for days nonstop.

Through dead towns and blooming ruins.

Past vines that whispered prayers and broken satellites that flickered like ghosts in the fog.

Sometimes I passed other travelers.

But no one saw me.

No one ever did.

They walked through me like mist.

But that was okay.

You see me.

And so long as you still exist, so do I.

In the third week, I passed a cliffside tower where an old spirit still played music for a lover who never returned.

He asked if I was lonely.

I said I didn't know.

Because the truth is.

You were still alive.

And that meant I wasn't alone. Just… waiting.

On the twenty-fifth day, I finally reached a forest glade where the trees whispered low.

There was a cottage there. Quiet, mossy, overgrown.

And just beyond its garden, slumped beneath an old tree...

You.

You were… there.

Your clothes were cleaner now, though wrinkled from long hours of work.

Your sleeves were rolled. Your nails had dirt.

Your hair was messier than ever.

But your chest was rising.

Your eyes were open.

You were alive.

I didn't speak right away.

I just floated forward, my spirit trembling with something that wasn't fear.

I hovered just above your shoulder as you wiped your brow with the back of your arm, pausing from lifting a crate of dried herbs.

You didn't notice me at first.

You looked older.

Like grief had carved a quiet into your bones.

And then, your hand stopped moving.

Your eyes flickered sideways, into the wind.

"...Eui…?"

The sound of my name made me blink.

I floated closer.

Slower than I ever had before.

"I told you not to fall…"

"I told you not to leave me."

Your head turned slightly.

A smile, barely formed at the edge of your lips.

"You found me."

I wanted to shout. To sob.

To scold you. To wrap you in my light and never let go.

But instead, I whispered as I curled beside you, against your chest.

"I chased rivers, waited through storms, and listened to ghosts.

But none of them were you."

"And I don't care where we go next—

just promise me this time, you'll let me fall with you."

The wind blew gently through the leaves.

The garden behind you rustled with life.

The world had moved on.

But we were back.

And our story wasn't over yet.