Day 17: Krymell’s Journal

The riverbank felt colder today than it did last week. I sat by the water, staring at the ripples where Vex’s voice had been so close—like a stone dropped in the deep. I don’t know why I keep going back there. The way the light hit the reeds, the way the air tasted like something unsaid… I remember the weight of his words, how they lingered after he left. It’s not about the river or the silence. It’s the space between what he said and what I want to say. I should’ve asked him what he saw when he looked up at the sky. But I didn’t. Now, I wonder if the world’s too quiet for someone who doesn’t know how to speak.