Chapter no. : 4 The River That Reflected Me

Now, her focus was entirely on her studies. Every waking moment was devoted to books, notes, and practice papers. She wasn't just chasing good marks—she was chasing a chance. A chance to earn a scholarship, because without it, higher education was a dream her family couldn’t afford to touch.

She had stopped attending gatherings, put aside outings, and stayed up late night after night. Her world had become quiet, filled only with the soft rustle of turning pages and the ticking of the clock.

Days slipped by like petals in the wind. The exams came and went, like a storm that she tried to brace herself for. And now that they were over, a strange hollowness followed.

She wasn't completely satisfied. Something inside her whispered that it could’ve gone better. That maybe she had missed something. The feeling didn’t shout, but it stayed—subtle, nagging, like a breeze behind closed windows.

The holidays began soon after. With them came laughter, chatter, and lightness she hadn’t felt in months. She allowed herself to breathe, to smile again.

She spent time with her family—cooking meals, watching old shows, and resting her head in her mother’s lap like she used to as a child. She caught up with friends, shared stories, and laughed until her cheeks hurt.

Then one afternoon, while sitting by the window, she remembered. A promise—small but dear. One she had made long ago to a street dog named Boo.

She found him in his usual spot near the old bakery. His eyes lit up the moment he saw her. She walked to him with a treat in her hand and a song on her lips.

“Sorry for being this late in keeping my promise,” she said, her voice soft, almost guilty.

She sat beside him, feeding him slowly, humming quietly. Boo rested his head on her lap, content. She played with him, ruffling his fur, watching the way his tail wagged with joy. For that little while, everything else faded.

A few days later, the school announced that results would be declared soon. Her heart gave a small jolt. Not fear exactly—just a flutter of nervousness.

That evening, she sat with Boo again, under the same old tree where they'd shared so many quiet moments. She told him everything, as if he were the only one who truly listened.

“I know I did my best,” she said. “I just hope things turn out in my favor. That’s all I can wish for now.”

The sky began to turn shades of rose and gold. As the sun dipped below the rooftops, she rose and began walking. Alone. Through narrow streets lined with silent homes and trees swaying gently in the wind.

Her steps were slow, unhurried. She wasn’t thinking of anything in particular. Her mind, usually buzzing, was quiet now. A soft emptiness filled her—not sadness, just space.

She reached the town’s old bridge, the one that overlooked the river. It had always been her favorite place. A place where she could breathe. She sat on its edge and let out a deep breath that felt like it had been waiting for days.

The river flowed steadily beneath her, its surface catching the first hints of moonlight. The night had fallen silently, wrapping the town in a velvet hush. The sky above shimmered with stars, each one twinkling like it had something to prove—like they were competing with the proud, glowing moon.

The wind was cool, soft. It touched her face gently, brushed against her collarbone, danced with the loose strands of her hair. The sounds of the night—insects, the river’s , the rustle of distant trees—wove together into something beautiful and healing.

She lay down on the bridge, barefoot, wearing her lavender dress, the same one she always loved but rarely wore. Her hair fanned out around her like a quiet halo. She stared up at the sky, but didn’t ask it anything tonight.

She didn’t need answers. She just needed to be.

As she lay there, memories drifted through her like fireflies—moments when she had smiled from her soul, moments when she had helped someone, not expecting anything in return, and the calm that followed.

Those memories wrapped around her gently, warming her from within. A smile spread across her lips—not wide, not loud, but true.

She turned her head and looked into the river. The water sparkled like diamonds, alive with moonlight. For a moment, she saw her own reflection—peaceful, glowing, like someone who had walked through fire and still found calm.

And just for a second, it felt like the river was speaking back to her. Like it was thanking her—for seeing its beauty, for sitting with it, for sharing her silence. And in return, it reflected her beauty back at her—not just the kind seen with eyes, but the kind felt deep within.

Ami lay quietly on the old stone bridge, her lavender dress fanned out beneath her, hair spilling like ink around her face. The night sky above was a tapestry of stars, but her eyes were fixed downward—on the river flowing gently beneath her. Its waters shimmered in the moonlight, soft and silver, endlessly moving.

She sighed, her breath blending into the cool breeze of the night.

"How are you just flowing like that..." she murmured to the river, as if it could hear her thoughts. "Without expectations. Without burdens. Just flowing. While people like me—we carry so much. Everyone expects something from us. And still... you just go on, giving without asking anything in return. Never thinking of yourself."

Her voice wavered, caught somewhere between wonder and sorrow. The river didn’t answer. Not at first.

And then—unexpectedly—a sound rose from the water. Not a splash. Not a wave. A voice.

“We are alike, you and I. Both seen, both moving. Doing the same thing—just in different places, for different reasons.”

Ami’s heart stopped.

She lifted her head slowly, unsure if she had truly heard it or if her mind had wandered too deep into imagination.

“You’re doing this because it brings you joy,” the voice continued, calm and low, like the river itself was whispering from below. “But me? I’m not. I flow because I must. I was made for this. You chose to move. I had no choice.”

Ami sat up in a rush, staring at the glowing surface of the river, eyes wide with disbelief.

"What’s going on with me...?" she whispered. "That can’t be real. That’s not true. Rivers don’t speak. This—this is just my mind. I’m thinking too much, that’s all."

She pressed her palm to her chest, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling inside her.

But one question lingered, quietly, persistently.

"Do they really speak...?"

And the river, in its silent flow, seemed to hold all the answers she wasn’t ready to hear.

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