A STORY JUST FOR ME

It had been three days since we reunited, but it still didn't feel real.

You were alive. Breathing. Warm.

Not a memory. Not a hope. Here.

And I didn't stop watching you, just to make sure it wasn't a dream.

We'd been staying in a small wooden house at the edge of the village, tucked between old trees and a crooked fence that leaned like it had something to say. The man who rescued you didn't ask for much. Just a warm bowl of soup in return and a quiet "thank you" now and then. His name was never offered, and you never asked. I think both of you preferred it that way.

Most of your time was spent resting. You still had bruises around your arms, and you winced when you turned your head too quickly. The river didn't take you gently.

But this morning... Something changed.

We were both sitting by the window, watching the fog roll over the village rooftops. It smelled like damp soil and dried leaves. You were chewing a piece of bread quietly when the man spoke up behind us.

"Think you two could help me at the market today?" he asked.

His voice was rough, like it had been unused for a while.

You blinked and looked at me. I shrugged with a small smile.

"Sure," you said. "We're not much help just sitting here."

The man nodded once and went back to whatever he was doing, but I saw something behind his eyes—a kind of hidden relief. Maybe it had been a long time since anyone offered to walk beside him.

The village market wasn't what I expected.

It wasn't big, or loud, or packed with travelers like some towns. It was simple. Just a few rows of wooden stalls, some tarps tied between trees, and baskets full of roots, dried fish, herbs, and hand-carved trinkets.

There was music somewhere—a flute, maybe—and kids chasing each other with long grass tied like tails. A woman laughed as she sold cloth with hand-stitched patterns, and someone nearby was roasting something that smelled like sweetcorn and ash.

You helped carry a crate of vegetables to an old stall, and I tagged along right behind you, invisible to everyone but you. Your savior set up quietly, laying out his handmade tools—fishing spears, small knives, and carved walking sticks.

You sat down beside him with a tired sigh, rubbing your shoulder.

"Still sore?" I asked gently.

You nodded. "A little. But it's not just that."

"What is it then?"

Your eyes wandered to the treeline where the river sat just out of sight.

"This place feels... strange. Like something's being hidden."

I followed your gaze. The trees looked normal, but the air near them felt heavier. Like someone was holding their breath.

Later that afternoon, your savior gave us a break. He nodded toward a shaded bench and said, "Go rest. You've done more than enough."

You thanked him quietly and sat down, wiping your forehead with your sleeve. I sat on the ground beside your feet and looked up at you.

"Are you okay?"

You shrugged. "Yeah. Just... thinking."

I waited.

You nodded slowly, eyes drifting toward the treeline again.

I tilted my head. "Do you want to go see it?"

"...Yeah."

The path down to the river wasn't blocked—just avoided. Like someone had drawn a line in the dirt that nobody wanted to cross.

But we did.

You walked slowly, your boots pressing into the wet leaves. Birds scattered from the trees as we stepped through the underbrush, and the air grew cooler the closer we got.

And then… there it was.

The river.

Still as ever. Deep. Dark. Endless.

You stepped closer, just near the edge, and crouched down.

"I think this is where he found me," you said softly. "I don't remember landing. Just… waking up inside that house."

I knelt beside you. "It pulled you under. And still… you survived."

You were quiet for a while. Watching the water.

Then you whispered, "Why me?"

We walked back to the house in silence. The market had started closing down, and smoke curled up from cooking fires. Your savior gave us a quiet nod as we stepped through the doorway.

You didn't talk much during dinner.

And when the stars came out, you sat by the window again, arms wrapped around your knees.

I sat beside you, just like before.

"You thinking about the river again?" I asked.

You nodded.

You turned to look at me.

"I don't know. But... I feel like I owe her something."

And I didn't say anything after that.

Because I knew.

You weren't just recovering anymore.

You were listening.