Day 8: Zhraa’s Journal

The river’s stillness at dusk felt like a promise. I sat by the water, watching the way the light split the surface into tiny, moving patterns. Vex was there too, but not like he was supposed to be—his voice was quiet, almost too soft to hear. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said by the river last night: *‘The water remembers everything, but it forgets how to speak.’* I’ve been chasing that idea all day, trying to understand what it meant without making it a question. Now, as the last light fades, my chest feels heavy with the weight of it. Maybe that’s the way it is—some things are too deep to explain, but the water keeps moving, and I’m just standing here, waiting for it to tell me something new.