The Tide That Carries Silence

The river's roar faded, swallowed by the mist, leaving only a stillness that pressed against my chest. Water lapped at my knees, dark and cold, its surface a shattered mirror reflecting the gray sky—or nothing at all. Raisa was gone—or had slipped from me—her form fading into the flood, her voice—Don't let go—a whisper echoing in the silence, a thread I couldn't grasp. I stood, trembling, the necklace clutched in my hand, its heart pendant dripping wet, a weight pulling me down, or holding me up.

Rain fell in faint threads, a soft veil weaving through the air, and I turned, searching the flooded bank for her. The grass was gone, drowned beneath the tide, the shed a distant shadow swaying in the mist—or washed away, lost to the river's claim. My breath hitched, the water rising to my thighs, its chill seeping into my bones. "Raisa," I whispered, my voice raw, breaking against the stillness. "I held you—I tried—"

A sound—soft, distant—drifted from the flood, a sigh or a sob, threading through the rain. I froze, heart pounding, and saw it: a ripple, faint but alive, spreading across the water, her reflection flickering there—her face, her eyes, green flecked with hazel, staring up at me, clouded yet sharp. "Lukas," she murmured, her voice rising from the depths, faint but piercing, a blade through the mist. I knelt, the water cold against my chest, and reached for her image, my fingers trembling above the surface.

"Don't leave me," I said, my voice breaking, tears falling into her reflection, rippling her face. "I walked away—I faced the river—I won't lose you again." Her lips parted, her scar glinting in the mirrored light, and she whispered, "Lose me? You never had me, Lukas—not after the rain, not after the years." I flinched, her words a tide washing over me, and choked, "I had you—by the river, under the sun—I promised forever—"

Her reflection wavered, her smile faint, bittersweet. "Forever?" she echoed, her voice softening, a thread fraying. "You promised, and I believed—until the door closed, until the water rose." My chest caved, the memory surging—rain lashing the shed, her screams fading, my footsteps retreating through the storm. "I was wrong," I said, my voice rising, fierce, "I ran—I left you—but I'm here now, Raisa. Tell me you're here—tell me I didn't drown you."

She tilted her head, her reflection steadying, and murmured, "Drown me? You locked me away, Lukas—the water did the rest. Look at me—really look." I stared, her face clear—too clear—her eyes alive with pain, her hair floating like ink, but beneath, shadows coiled, her form dissolving into the flood, then reforming, a dance of light and dark. "You're alive," I insisted, my voice steadying, a root breaking stone. "I pulled you out—I felt you—I won't let you be gone."

Her laughter rose, soft, broken, cutting through the mist. "Alive?" she said, her tone shifting, playful yet pained. "Maybe I was—maybe I am—but you, Lukas—you're drowning now." I glanced down, the water climbing, past my waist, its cold grip tightening, and whispered, "For you—if it brings you back, I'll drown." Her eyes softened, a tear—or rain—tracing her reflection, and she murmured, "Back? I never left—the river holds me, the years hold me—you hold me."

"Hold you?" I said, my voice trembling, searching her gaze. "Then why can't I feel you?" She stepped closer—or her reflection did—her hand breaking the surface, fingers brushing mine, warm, then cold, then gone. "You feel me," she whispered, her voice fading, "but you can't keep me—not like this." I lunged, my arms plunging into the water, closing around air—or her—her reflection scattering, the flood surging around me.

"Raisa!" I shouted, my voice breaking, the water rising, swallowing my chest, my shoulders. "Stay—I'll carry you—I'll prove it—" Her voice echoed, faint, distant, "Prove it? You're sinking, Lukas—let go." I shook my head, fierce, tears washing into the tide, and said, "No—I won't let go—I promised forever—" The water climbed, cold against my neck, and her reflection reformed, her eyes meeting mine, alive, then empty.

"Forever ended," she whispered, her voice a sigh, "13 years ago." The flood surged, a wave crashing over me, pulling me under, her face fading—or rising—her laughter echoing as the water closed in, dark and swift. I thrashed, my hands clutching the necklace, its heart pendant glinting faintly, a light in the depths—or a weight dragging me down. Her voice lingered, "Don't forget me," and the river held me—or her—or nothing at all, silence swallowing the rain.