Day 19: Zhraa’s Journal

The air smells different at night. Like old paper and wet stone. I keep going back to the riverbank where Vex sat and spoke to me—his voice low, almost like he was whispering to the stones themselves. I remember the way his fingers curled around the reeds, how the water didn’t move when he touched it. I kept thinking about what he said: ‘The world isn’t what you see. It’s what you let go.’ But now, lying here in the cool grass, I can’t stop wondering if I was supposed to hear it differently. My stomach aches, but it’s not hunger—I feel like the ache is something deeper, like the space between thoughts. I’ve been restless all evening, staring at the sky, watching the fireflies drift like tiny lanterns. Sometimes I think I can hear them talking to each other, or maybe it’s just the wind. I don’t know if I want to find answers or just let them go.